


Finders Keepers

by emmadune



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cheating, Exclusive tho, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Roulette, M/M, Made up stuff, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Medical Inaccuracies, Misunderstandings, Mpreg, PSA i love liz, Sex Work, Unhealthy Relationships, and for that reason, at some point but not always lmao, idk literally all sorts, save for few lines, she is magnificently absent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:47:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 120,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25035679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmadune/pseuds/emmadune
Summary: Scent blockers fail for variety of reasons. It could be the quality, drug resistance of the user, external triggers, or scent bonding. When Timothée notices his cheap maintenance disintegrating at the presence of a certain alpha, he knows no good would come out of it.Not to mention, he’s also married. That doesn’t seem to stop them from engaging in sexual contracts.
Relationships: Elizabeth Chambers/Armie Hammer, Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 150
Kudos: 298





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! If you're entering here from my previous fic, Only Sore Losers Say No, please be warned that this is NOTHING like that. If you put OSLSN on top and Dead Doves: Do Not Eat at the bottom, this one falls somewhere down there so like back away. 
> 
> Anyway! This is like a vent fic. I was writing a cute, enemies-to-friends-to-lovers and hit a massive writing block because things aren't looking so well around me. And this is the result. Lmao. I'm sorry. 
> 
> A/B/O fic coming through with a lot of medical bullshit. But like, come on. If you can believe in self lubricating assholes then you can stretch a little further from there. Damn, even I can't believe I'm writing in this side of the fandomtown.

Timothée aced his SAT, even got accepted in New York University in his desired program. It was a bright, promising future; he could use his education to slowly bring his life up. That’s a child’s dream though. Timothée believed it only until he was seventeen. One morning, the news came that his father died in a fatal crash, taking with him more than just half of his mother’s sanity and the entirety of their financial support. Pauline immediately dropped out of college to work three jobs to support their mother, moving to their small town in Le Chambon-sur-Lignon where their grandmother lives. Timothée was left alone in New York, living off of the mercy of his aunts who couldn’t afford much on their own. That was the last time Timothée had been in France. He couldn’t afford to go back after. 

At seventeen, Timmy abandoned all his delusions of college and professional jobs and worked from waiting tables to nude modeling and everything in between. It’s been four years since their lives turned upside down, yet none in his family has gotten back securely on their feet. Nothing got worse, but nothing improved either. They were just stuck. 

There are very few things Timmy wouldn’t give to return to France and hole up in their town with his family, but Pauline ordered him not to. It’s better to stay in New York and pursue his education, she said. It didn’t happen then, and it still hasn’t happened now. They were all just getting by, with no direction to go to and no support to help them move. Timothée doubts it will ever happen. He understands anyway. Pauline carries the household there on her shoulders. Adding to the weight of her responsibilities isn’t really what he should be doing. 

So Timothée stays. He saved up enough to get himself a studio apartment in Flatbush and every night is a run for his life but it would have to do. Being located in a sketchy side of New York meant that the place hadn’t been in demand, so for the price and the condition of the flat, it’s a good enough deal. Little by little, Timothée managed to fill his place with furniture he got from the flea market or the thrift shop and he actually managed a decent aesthetic with his meager income. 

If all of it isn’t enough to earn Timothée a pitying shake of heads, then knowing that he’s an omega might just do the trick. Times are better now, but that doesn’t mean they have it good. It’s expensive to be an omega. There’s of course the constant need for scent blockers, because if he smelled good enough and an alpha pounced him then maybe he asked for it. On top of that, Timothée also pays for heat suppressants for the obvious reason that he absolutely trusts no one to touch him during his heat. All of the medications he takes cuts off nearly twenty percent of his income, and his food budget takes the hit of it. 

It’s hard to be a twenty-one year old self-supporting omega, but what else is Timothée going to be? So he just lives with it, even if he knows that people gossip behind his back. Why is that omega alone in life? Was he disowned for his secondary sex? Did he run away from an arrangement? He lives with it, even if he gets slurs for absolutely no other reason than they find out that he’s an omega. He lives with it, even if he works four jobs to keep this god awful life. At least it’s his. 

From 7:00 a.m to 3:00 p.m from Tuesday to Friday, Timothée works a full-time shift as a barista in the cafe two blocks away. From 6:00 p.m to 2:00 a.m from Friday to Sunday, he’s bartending. On Saturdays, he would tutor Mrs. Corden’s daughter Elisse in French. Timothée also accepts translation works, French to English and vise versa. He’s long been burned out in this life that it’s already lost its meaning. 

Still, Timothée gets up at an ungodly hour in the morning to go to work. It’s good that he works in a cafe, and he just eats the food there for breakfast. Some days, it’s a fresh pastry, other times, he gets the ones nearly up on their shelf lives. It works out. Timothée wouldn’t complain. It’s free coffee and free pastry if the cafe could spare the latter and that’s good enough. 

“Timmy!” Saoirse chirpily greets, leaning over the counter and grinning at him. She’s an alpha gliding cheerfully in life. “Is boss man in?”

Timothée glances over her and gives a smile. “Not until noon, no.” He returns to wiping the countertop as they get ready for opening. “You need something?” 

“Yeah, my paycheck.” Saoirse replies with a click of her tongue. “You free this weekend?” 

He shakes his head. “You know I work every weekend.” 

Saoirse sighs. “Yeah, all you do is work though.” She’s worried for good reason. 

Bartending isn’t really cut for omegas. If he hadn’t been on constant scent blockers and they’re desperate for staff during weekends, Timothée won’t even be considered. 

“It’s a hard life.” Timothée says lightheartedly, but adds the dismissive tone to it. 

Saoirse got the hint. She smiles and opens her arm to him. “Alright, I’m going now, I have class. Bye!” She hugged him tight then skipped to the door. 

Later that afternoon, Timothée would find himself to be immensely grateful that Saoirse came by during the opening. It had been the kindest interaction he’s had over the counter. Josh and Paige, his coworkers, kept glancing at him worriedly, but they already knew to step in only when Timothée asked them to. For the duration of his shift, Timothée has endured verbal humiliations and harassment. It’s not everyday it’s like this. It’s just a bad day. Although, if he’s being honest, he’s had way more of the bad than the good. He’s long stopped dissecting the whys. 

“You can go ahead, we got this.” Paige tells him when their shift ended. 

Timothée wants to bolt out the door, but he asks anyway. “Are you sure?” 

Josh clapped a hand on his shoulder, startling him. “Man, I swear it’s fine. You cover for us three days a week.” 

It was true. The only reason why Timothée won’t work these extra hours to clean up after themselves was because he has a shift in the bar in three hours. He nods to them both, smiling awkwardly and murmuring his thanks. Paige chuckles and coos at him, while Josh teases him for still being shy around them. They’re both betas, very normally functioning people who are only happy to get out of the way if an alpha or an omega loses their temper for whatever reason. 

It wasn’t so much as shyness as borderline social anxiety, but it’s a much tamer term. He’ll take it. Timothée gets his duffel from the back and waves one more time to Josh and Paige before leaving the cafe. For every Friday, he doesn’t stop for much of anything else other than for eating, restroom break and this three-hour window he has where he can either nap or read. He decides on eating, dropping some bucks on his first proper meal of the day. 

Being on constant grind makes Timothée feel unsettled when he’s not doing something productive. The diner isn’t buzzing with people, so he takes out the French contract he’s translating for a small business and reviews it. Browsing turns into annotating, and when Sarah taps on his table and points on his plate, Timothée can only smile sheepishly at her and nod. 

“You work yourself to skin and bones, Timoteo.” Sarah remarks while she points a chiding finger at him. 

They’re familiar with each other. Timothée comes here often, and she’s the daughter of the owner who’s also waiting tables. An omega. They get each other like that. 

“Well, if I had a choice, you know I would  _ never. _ ” Timothée makes a light of it, which Sarah also appreciates. 

She shrugs but chuckles at him. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Eat up and be careful later, okay?” She stares at him until he responds. “Good, and maybe get a sugar daddy from that posh bar.” 

Timothée tries to laugh and is successful enough. Sarah smiles kindly at him one last time before moving to other chores. The time is already past four, so Timothée heeds Sarah’s order and puts his work away to finish his meal. 

What they don’t talk about outright is the fact that Timothée’s secondary sex could be the reason why it’s hard to keep his bartending job, yet also the reason why he got it. He’s an unmated, unclaimed omega who’s objectively very pretty. The manager who got him in didn’t shy away from pointing that out. Timothée felt like an unregistered goods on display, but then what’s new? 

When he arrived, the bar was already filled with people celebrating the end of the weekdays. Don greets him when he enters the staff room, gruff as always but he means well. He’s an alpha in his late twenties, mated with two kids, not very happily, but they’re trying. Timothée supposes that plays a major factor to his general disposition. 

Don scoffs at the crowd pouring into the bar. “It’s gonna be a tough night, I can already tell.” 

Timothée can’t bite down his response if he tried. “Every night is a tough night.” 

“Well then relative to other nights.” Don doesn’t ever bat an eye on the fact that he’s an omega, even when he’s prying off people trying to pick him up during his shift.  _ The kid said no. He’s not interested in you. Can’t you see he’s working? _ Never once did Don ever point out his secondary sex, even if that’s what’s attracting trouble in the first place. 

It could merely be pity, just like how every other person in a five kilometer radius feels about an omega who’s all alone in life. Like with any other, Timothée would say it doesn’t matter. 

Even if he thinks all nights in the bar is tough, Don is still correct. It’s relatively tougher tonight. A fight seems to break out every thirty minutes, there’s always a drunk person or two hanging on the bar and demanding more drinks, even Don got hit on. The consolation there was his face. Nearly two meters tall with a full beard and a buzz cut, buff with visible tattoos up to his neck, and looking at this stupid, drunk out of his mind alpha hitting on him. Don shouts for the bouncer so fast. 

Naturally, Timothée had his fair share of getting hit on, which consisted of objectification and borderline sexual harassment. Slurs, too, when he turns them down. Don keeps an eye on him but thankfully none of it ends in a scuffle. 

When Timothée feels something change in the atmosphere, his head whips up and the beer spills over. Don has always been attentive, finishing the order before walking over to him. They exchange a knowing look and Timothée allows him to take over the order while he cleans up his mess. 

“What’s up?” Don juts his chin at him, subtle and quiet. 

Timothée tosses the cloth by the sink. “Nothing,” he answers, but checks around to make sure. 

“I can smell you.” Don glances over to the door to the staff room. 

Although scent blockers do sometimes wear off for whatever reason, it’s the first time it happened at work. Timothée obviously can’t tell himself, but if Don says so, then he’s trusting him. He turns away from the bar and stalks right into the room, and there he finds the manager Sabine eyeing him curiously. 

“Aren’t you on blockers?” She asks. 

Timothée feels ashamed even though there isn’t any in the way he’s questioned. “Yes. It wore off, for some reasons. I’ll take one again.” 

“Why? Did someone try to get to you?” Sabine pries further, dropping the files on the table to face him. 

There is a clear implication to her words. She’s asking if an alpha triggered his hormones, breaking the medication due to the sudden rush. It is one of the possibilities, but then there goes drug resistance. After all, Timothée has been on this same brand since seventeen. It’s the cheap option. 

“No, no one.” Timothée holds her stare as he replies. “I’ll look into switching. Maybe it’s not working as well as it used to.” 

Sabine doesn’t look convinced but she lets it drop anyway. “Thirty minutes. Is that enough?” 

Timothée nods. The blockers would kick in again in that time span. “Yes, thank you.” 

“Make sure to get back.” The conversation ends there. 

It wasn’t much, but it’s sympathy enough. Timothée swallows his pill and waits thirty minutes. When Sabine turns to him, less than twenty minutes later, she sniffs the air, then nods to the door. Timothée understands, and so he returns to work. 

When Don finds him even before he shows up to his side, Timothée knows his scent hasn’t completely faded yet. Don looks like he wants to say something, so Timothée beats him to it. 

“I took blockers. Sabine said I’m good enough to go.” 

Don turns away after nodding. They picked up their work wordlessly after that. Even if Timothée has functioned normally after the fluke, the shift in the room still hangs heavily in the air. It keeps him on edge, high alert and waiting for the other shoe to drop. It only went away around midnight, Timothée realized with alarming certainty. 

“You don’t know who it is?” Don asks him when the orders become far in between. 

Since it’s the first time that Don blatantly addressed his secondary sex like that, Timothée can’t help but blink in confusion before clearing his throat to force himself to answer. “You think it’s someone?” 

“Pretty sure, yeah.” Don shrugs, his eyes trained on the crowd. “If it’s working perfectly all this time and then suddenly,” he snaps his fingers to indicate the medication failure. “It would’ve been better to know who it is, so you can adjust but then.” 

Yes, only but. It was a bar full of people. There’s no way that Timothée could’ve found who it was unless he raked through the crowd, person by person. They let the subject drop. It wasn’t likely to happen again anyway. 

Saturday French class with Elisse begins after lunch at one. They’re on a much better side of Brooklyn, which is why they can afford a personal tutor for their daughter. Not that Timothée charges a lot, but Mrs. Corden pays him thirty dollars per hour, and he teaches Elisse only until five. 

Elisse is only thirteen, yet everyone is already treating her like an omega. Secondary sex only appears around sixteen to eighteen, so she still has a few years to go. Timothée is of the opinion that they’re being unfair to her, but he earns hundred and fifty dollars per afternoon over her parents’ faulty logic. He swallows his protests and knocks on their door. 

Corazon, the housekeeper, ushers him inside. “Ah, Timmy, you’re here.” 

Timothée always gets struck with longing for his aunt in the Upper West whenever he sees Corazon. It was bittersweet. “Yes, hello. How is Elisse?” 

“Excited to see you, you already know this.” Corazon pinches his cheek. “Come, did you have something to eat?” 

“Yes, I’ve eaten. I promise!” Timothée insists when Corazon looks skeptical at his answer. He had toast and coffee. It was filling enough. “Besides, I’d get snacks later. I’m looking forward to it.” 

Corazon still doesn’t believe him completely but doesn’t say anything more. She calls for Mrs. Corden, telling her that he’s arrived. Mrs. Corden is nice enough. That doesn’t mean she’ll go out of her way to meet the tutor. Timothée greets her briefly and she acknowledges him with a smile. He goes up to Elisse’s room after. 

_ “Hello, Elisse. Did you finish your homework? _ ” Timothée questions lightheartedly as he closes the door behind him. 

Elisse pouts at him and waves the worksheet.  _ “Hello, Timothée. It’s hard!” _ She can manage simple sentences in French now. Her pronunciation is good, but it’s always the grammar that’s the problem. 

_ “No more Google translate?” _ He teased. 

_ “That’s once!” _ Elisse protests, already walking to her desk where they work. 

Timothée laughs and sits beside her.  _ “I know, I know. Now, tell me where you find it the hardest and we’ll work on that.”  _

When Elisse gapes at him, Timothée figures his instruction came too fast and a bit complex. 

_ “Which is hard?” _ Elisse understands him that time, and Timothée follows her finger as she points to the third exercise.  _ “Did you answer?”  _

_ “Yes. Here,” _ Elisse shows him a piece of paper. 

Grammar is a lot of work. They better get started. 

When Timothée started this job for Mrs. Corden, he’s immediately flooded with a warm, satisfying feeling. Initially, his first choice was nursing, which was also the program he got accepted for in college. Right now, Timothée is reconsidering his options. Teaching seems nice. It’s equally challenging and gratifying. He thinks it might be good. 

Their afternoons would be halted by three, so Corazon can bring up a tray of snacks and tea. When they first started, Elisse hadn’t been a big fan. Timothée taught her to make her tea like his late father did, just enough splash of milk and two cubes of sugar. It became a much enjoyed recess after that. The rest that would come after would be more lax than the extensive preceding hours. It won’t be much use if Elisse was bombarded with more information than she knew what to do with. In that case, Timothée would just engage her in a conversation in French, or even just talk to her in English and listen to her stories. The best thing about her is that she does want to learn, and for that reason she would say the sentences in French if it’s within her knowledge. 

Elisse would always see him out when it’s time to go. Timothée would promise to see her the following Saturday, and they would part as such. 

There isn’t much time between that and his next shift to the bar, so he would usually grab something to-go and eat it on his way. It’s another exhausting day. 

Sundays are free until six in the afternoon. Still, Timothée uses it to work. He takes translation very seriously even if it’s tedious and underpaying. Once he submits it by the following week, he’ll be accepting another from his posting online. 

It’s the cycle of his life, and all of it revolves around keeping his head above the surface. If Timothée loses his job at the bar, his food budget would suffer. If it’s the cafe, then it affects his rent. The translation and tutoring are supplementary. They’re for his bills, medications, and if he earned good tips then maybe he can buy himself something he wants, or maybe a treat of some sort. 

Pauline would call him regularly. She would put their mom through the line, and then their grandmother. They would exchange a few words. Nicole has always been bound to end up in teary apologies, for always a different reason than the last. Their grandmother thinks he’s living his best life and they’re happy to keep her in the dark. As far as Pauline knows, her brother works as a barista, tutors on the side, and freelances in translation. The calls always make Timothée ache. On some days that are harder than usual, it also makes him cry. The thought of their lives breaks his heart. 

It was an ordinary shift in the cafe when Timothée felt it again. It’s nearly a month since, but he vividly recalls the signs. The room changes again, the air getting heavier, and he knows it before the smell hits. His curiosity got the better of him. It was his break, but he goes out the open door to their break room to check. 

When his eyes landed on a tall, blonde man, Timothée knew in his core that it was him. It froze him on the spot, but broke out of it when his panic hit. The alpha smelled the change in the air, his neck craning as he seeks where it’s coming from. Alarmed, Timothée swiftly turns on his heels and back into the break room. His scent blockers failed again. It’s no coincidence. Paige walks in a few minutes later. It’s her turn, and Timothée should return behind the counter. 

“Is the tall, blonde man gone?” Timothée asks, huddled in the corner and holding a glass of water. 

Paige won’t be able to tell that his scent is potent now because she’s a beta. “Is that a crush?” She teases, then peeks back to the cafe to find him. 

“Paige!” Timothée almost yells, but catches it in his throat. He still sounds as forceful as he wants. “No, don’t. My scent blockers failed.”

Understanding crossed her face immediately. She rushes to his side and sits there. “It’s him? Do you know each other?” 

Timothée shakes his head. “I felt it in the bar about a month ago. My blockers failed then too, but we never met. I didn’t think I’d actually see him.” 

“Oh, Timmy,” Paige’s voice is tinged with worry. She cups his face into her palm. “He’s married.” 

That was a punch in the gut. They don’t know each other, but it still stings to know that the first connection Timothée has had, he can’t even explore. Paige kept him company, telling Josh about the blonde man and he doesn’t think twice about covering for them. The man didn’t linger. Timothée returns to work mocked by the leftover scent of the man. 

With the knowledge that the tall, blonde man is married, Timothée is happy to move on with his life. Once he got over the initial shock of it all, he finds that he’s actually even more relieved to not be so helplessly tangled with a man who cannot be anything else but trouble. That’s not saying that Timothée doesn’t think of him. 

Too often, if he’s being honest. Timothée thinks of him when he’s at work either in the cafe or in the bar. He thinks of the man and the chances of them meeting again. Idly, he also wonders. Connections like that are often mutual, but not always. Timothée does not discount the fact that he might’ve felt it with his spouse. He looks way older too, perhaps in his early thirties. Maybe he would look at Timothée and laugh goodnaturedly; tell him he’ll find his own reciprocated connection, too. Tell him he’s young and there’s much more in life than this. Timothée already knows all of it. Despite that, he still can’t help to think about it. 

In the privacy of his home, Timothée has touched himself countless times and has grown frustrated. He then thinks of the man, huge enough to cover Timothée completely with his body, strong enough to pick him up. The orgasm that hits him at the fantasy of his touch, as satisfying as it is guilting. When the haze in his mind clears, Timothée almost cannot bear to look at himself for coming at the idea of a married man getting him off. 

Two weeks later, Timothée finds himself frozen where he stood again, this time as he watches the man walk towards the door and into the cafe. The scent blockers failed even before he stepped in. Josh is on a break while Paige is wiping tables. There’s no one else to deal with the man but him. 

The effect was instantaneous. The man goes through the door, and Timothée gets to watch as his scent hits, and he feels the man’s scent hit him in return. It’s beyond satisfying to see him slowly freeze just as Timothée had, and then alarmed and panicked for the same reasons that he had been. This cannot be. He’s married. 

Instead of turning around to leave, the man seeks where the scent is coming from. Timothée instinctively shrinks into himself, as if that could do anything to hide him when he clearly is standing behind the register, waiting to receive the order. 

Timothée knows the man is standing in front of him even before he lifts his head to look. 

“I’ll have a flat white.” The man tells him, eyes fixed on the menu when Timothée finally gathered enough courage to glance. 

This isn’t new. Transactions are very clear cut and short. He knows the drill. Timothée barely manages a smile but it doesn’t matter when the man isn’t even paying attention. He asks the size, if he’d like to have anything with it, offers their selection, asks if he’s having it here or to go, takes his name for the cup, settles the bill. 

Armie, is his name, and he got a large flat white with monte cristo, and he took to it his table wordlessly. Paige was on her way back to the counter when she saw the man then whipped to check on Timothée. He gave her a curt smile and she immediately took over so he can take his scent blockers again. 

While in the break room, Timothée stares at his bottle of scent blockers and counts the number left. Ten days worth to go, less if he encounters the man again or fails him for other reasons. He tries to compute his income and how much he has saved. Changing blockers meant visiting a doctor, and that’s an additional fee. The tips in the bar could be generous, but since he doesn’t allow himself to be subjected to unwanted advances, he hardly got any. 

Timothée dreads how he knows it’s the only option left to make ends meet. But he’ll do it. 

The next shift in the bar, Timothée is a lot friendlier to everyone. It got him the tips he needed, and Don caught on right away. It made him watch over Timothée even more closely than he used to. He’s grateful, but shame pricks him still. It's a different intensity when someone else knows the low you stoop down to for money. 

“You know who’s causing your blockers to fail?” Don asked him as they cleaned up. 

Timothée forces himself to answer. “Yes, I saw him in the cafe.” 

Don frowned. “And he’s not helping you?” 

Timothée appreciates it. Not very many people would look past the opportunity to blame the omega for existing. “We don’t know each other. I served him his coffee and that’s it. He’s married.” 

They never talked about it again. Don makes sure nothing happens to him even when he’s accepting the advances that make his skin crawl, but that’s the most acknowledgement the issue ever got. 

The fact that it first happened in the bar should’ve already warned Timothée that it could happen there again. It’s only been past the week mark, and he still needs to work another weekend of dangling himself for more tips to be able to afford a visit to a doctor. It’s Friday night, still hectic but not nearly as crowded due to a promo by another pub somewhere. The man walks in with three other men, his colleagues, it looks like. Don clears his throat as Timothée stares. He’s seen the alpha, and now he smells Timothée. 

It makes him want to crawl away and just hide. 

Don crowds into him until Timothée is behind him. It’s an obvious cue for him to leave, take another blocker and return when it takes effect. It could also mean that the alpha has found him behind the bar, and Don is trying to keep things under control. Despite his awareness, Timothée wants to be seen. 

All that urge is pushed down when he forces his feet to take him to the staff room. When he opens the bottle and sees it empty, he’s ready to cry out of frustration. He can’t afford it yet, but with the situation it seems like he’ll have to make do with his old blockers. It would send him back considerably, all that he saved for that appointment would be cut. 

Timothée returns after fifteen minutes of panic. Don is visibly unhappy with this, but he doesn’t say a word. 

“I ran out.” He confessed. 

For the first time since they’ve known each other, Don actually looked at him with the same sympathy as the rest. It builds a lump in Timothée’s throat and he feels as though there are rocks dropping in his gut. He goes back to work. 

The lingering scent became a twisted advantage of sorts, and he’s flocked with customers that he milked to the fullest. It was so, so dangerous. The more he did it, the stronger the shame in his chest. There’s Don keeping an eye on him, and if that isn’t embarrassing enough he’s actually doing it where the alpha could see. There’s nothing else that Timothée wishes for more than for the connection to not be mutual. 

Following the shift, Timothée has made up his mind to get his old blockers again for the time being. It’s no use forcing that doctor’s appointment. The bottomline is he can’t afford it now, even if he’s sold his dignity for it. Since he’s already down the drain, Timothée figures to take a cab home. It’s bad enough that he’s going home this late. He has no plans on doing it while letting everyone know he’s an unclaimed, unmated omega. 

The sound of a car door slamming shut is followed immediately by the gush of wind that brings the alpha’s scent to his direction. Timothée wants to run, because even if he’s not looking he can tell that the distance between them is disappearing as the alpha stalks right into his space. When Timothée looked up, it was positively an attack on his senses. 

The alpha stood so close to him that Timothée could see his freckles. He knows he’s not breathing anymore, and if he resumes he’s not really sure if he can handle the smell of the man. All that’s left of his better judgment is telling him to turn on his heels; hail a cab and go home now. It sounds so simple yet impossible to do as Timothée helplessly stares, takes his fill of memorizing the details of the man; his stature, his blue eyes, his light stubble, his swept, dark blonde hair. 

“Who are you?” The alpha asks. 

Timothée’s breath returns to him like a shock in his chest. He drops his head down, unable to take in the sight along with the scent going up his nose at the moment. Claimed, but not mated. It's sending his brain in shambles. “I - I’m sorry. I don’t - I have to go.” 

He tries to bolt, and if this moment will ever be looked back upon by either of them, at least Timothée could say that he hadn’t caved in. The alpha snatches him by the wrist and forces him to stay planted where he stands. 

The touch sent a jolt up to Timothée’s spine. When he looks at him, he knows it’s mutual. The alpha is not handling it better than him though. He looks terrified, in shock, disbelieving. He smells like it, too. No matter what else he’s feeling, those three aren’t looking too good. They’re not even breaching the fact that his wedding ring is digging into Timothée’s wrist at the moment. 

“Please, let me go. It was a fluke. My blockers; I’m getting resistant.” Timothée is past the point of caring, would beg to be let go so he can hide in the comforts of his home and stay there until he’s not as scared of the possibilities as he is now. 

It seemed to have done it. The alpha released his wrist. He stares him down for a bit before nodding. “Excuse me, that was unacceptable.” 

“It’s fine.” Timothée doesn’t want this. “Can I go now?” 

Every bit of the alpha’s face and smell say the opposite of his response. “Yes, of course.” 

The ride back to Flatbush disappeared under his feet. Timothée only became aware of himself once he’s back inside his flat, shedding every piece of clothing and collapsing on the bed. The scent of the man lingers on his wrist, and Timothée brings it to his nose as he touches himself, coming so hard and soiling his sheets completely. He feels so, so ashamed. 

The next day, he bought the same wretched blockers that keep failing him. He set off on his week on this pill and a prayer. 

After a week, Timothée had no idea how visibly shaken he’d been after the encounter until Elisse asked him if he was okay. They had just finished their afternoon tea, chatting listlessly about anything that came up as they talked. 

_ “Is something wrong?” _ She asked him after the tray had been taken away. 

It is a well known fact that being spoken to in your mother tongue affects you differently as compared to when it’s spoken in another that you merely know. Timothée hasn’t heard anyone check on him, his family opting for messages these days as Pauline went away for Paris looking for a steadier job. It  _ is  _ different; to hear it in the language he grew up in and with a question he hasn’t even stopped to ask himself. 

No matter how much Timothée wants to spill his guts and confide, Elisse is only thirteen, and his student at that.  _ “No, darling. None at all. I work everyday, yes? Just tired.” _

_ “Sure? Are you sick?”  _ Elisse is really concerned now, touching his forehead with the back of her hand. 

Timothée shakes his head.  _ “Not sick.”  _

The temperature check appeased Elisse enough. The conversation steered into their usual chat, and she’s always happy to tell stories about school, her friends, her new hobbies, a show she’s watching. Timothée listens attentively, if only it could take his mind off everything that’s weighing him down. 

The alpha hasn’t returned to the cafe or the bar. It was for the better. That doesn’t stop the crippling feeling in his chest though. Timothée longs to see him again, even to simply stare at him from afar. It doesn’t even matter if he acknowledges Timothée. He’s married and claimed. With the way the alpha looked at him that night outside the bar, it was clear that he’s not happy about it. 

It also tells him that the connection is mutual. Timothée hates how something in him rejoices at the fact. Similarly, it builds his dread more and more. The alpha is married. He might even have kids. He’s obviously well-off with a high paying job. Timothée could never compare. 

The vulnerability that this connection leaves him in sways him in agreement with the rest of the world. Perhaps to be an omega is truly a doomed fate to rotten beings. Needless to say, it brought his spirits down even more than his life previously has. 

“Saoirse asks why you’re not picking up.” Paige tells him during their shift. “She doesn’t think she’s done anything, though.” 

Saoirse has indeed been trying to reach out to him, get him to go out and have a life. As it happens, Timothée feels his days to be more taxing with this knowledge gnawing at the back of his head. He spends his free time at home, translating or making Elisse’s lesson plans, then later at night touching himself repeatedly and wallowing in the guilt that comes afterwards. 

Sighing, Timothée says “No, it’s not that. Don’t worry, I’ll respond when our shift ends.” 

Paige looks unsure but asks anyway. “Is it the alpha?” 

The short answer is yes. Timothée would lie, but he’s too drained for it, so he opts for another face of the truth. “I’m looking into changing blockers. I can’t afford the appointment though.” 

“Fuck this healthcare.” Paige cusses, tossing the cloth away with passion. 

It made Timothée smile at the very least. 

No one makes any comment on the fact that he’s overly friendly at work now. Certainly not Don, and now not even Paige and Josh. Saoirse has been so worried about him, and Timothée tells her the same reason he told Paige. It also answers why he can’t spare some loose change to hang out. Everything works out. 

Even though Timothée has seen the alpha in the cafe at least twice but thankfully not when he’s assigned at the register, and another in the bar, his life has been going okay. Sure, his scent blockers disintegrate at the very presence of the man and it stirs unwanted feelings in his core, but otherwise it’s just going still. The tips had gotten significantly better. It lifts his mood the slightest bit. Things are looking better for that appointment that he wants so bad. He might be able to go the following week if he can keep this up. 

Pauline got back in touch with him through video calls. She went home to the countryside. She’s waiting for a call from an insurance company that she applied to. Originally, she attended business school in Paris. It’s a far cry from where she used to be, but it’s better than nothing. Timothée doesn’t tell them about the alpha, or how they connected right away and without even trying. It’s better left unsaid, with the way that it is. 

Just because he’s chosen to ignore it, doesn’t mean it would cease to exist. Sunday nights are still pretty busy for the bar, but usually it’s carried by a table or five of college kids who can definitely walk off a killer hangover. To Timothée, they’re a different kind of dangerous. Sure, older customers are more persistent and forceful, but there’s nothing like young, privileged kids who got nothing to lose. No job or reputation or families at stake. Timothée is just an unclaimed, unmated omega dangled in front of their wasted faces. He expected the advances. What took him by surprise was the alpha walking through the door and sending his hormones haywire. 

It’s just an easy recipe for disaster. A college jock immediately sniffs the air and finds him behind the bar. Don is quick to catch on, huffing beside him but he has orders to sort. Of course he’s scared, but there are enough bouncers around anyway. Timothée can worry about the aftermath later. 

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing here, hmm?” The jock is already leaning over the bar, his alcohol-ridden breath mingling with his haughty, alpha smell. 

Timothée will not play along. “Working. What can I get you?” 

“Your time. When do you get off? I can show you around.” 

“I live here.” When the jock tries to reach forward, Timothée jumps back like it burns. “Don’t touch me.” 

The jock is still going for it. “I don’t believe you. You don’t look like you’re from around here.” 

“Your advances are unwelcome. You can stop now before I call the security on you.” Timothée gives him a flat look, turning away and pretending to be busy by the sink. 

The wave of the alpha’s scent comes merely a second before Timothée hears a crash. Whipping around in surprise, he finds the college jock sitting on the floor while the alpha takes a stool and flags him down. 

“I’ll have whatever’s on the tap.” He tells Timothée cooly, not paying mind to the college kid he pried off the bar. 

“Who the hell are you?” The jock follows it with a string of curses. 

The alpha barely acknowledged him. “Your father’s money won’t save you if you piss me off.” 

That’s Timothée’s cue for deciding that he does not want to be involved in this exchange. He takes a beer mug and runs the tap, waiting for it to fill then serves it to the alpha. The jock was picked up from the floor by his friends. He’s thrashing and cussing still, though thankfully no one listened. 

“You’re too nice to your customers.” The alpha says without looking at him. “It gives them the wrong impression.” 

The shame and dread filled him fast and wholly. Of course he would notice that Timothée had been entertaining the attention. Knowing it doesn’t help with how reprimanded he feels. 

“Gotta do what you gotta do.” Even he was surprised with how even his voice came out. 

The alpha eyes him behind his glass. “You ought to switch.” 

The blockers, is what he’s referring to. Timothée feels defensive and allows himself to lash out. “That’s none of your business.” 

With the way the alpha’s brow raised, it was obvious that he put two and two together. It wouldn’t even take a genius, honestly. A scrawny kid hustling for tips and working two jobs after he confessed to failing medications. What’s not clicking? 

“That’s true.” He settles his bill and walks away. The glass still has two inches of beer in it. 

Don takes the glass and the money when Timothée seems to shell shocked from the encounter. “Quite a piece of work.” 

They don’t talk about it for the rest of the shift. 

The second time that Timothée finds the alpha after work, he wouldn’t have thought the cops would be thrown into the mix too. The alpha doesn’t need to turn to know that he’s there. In fact, he sees the recognition with the way the alpha’s shoulders relaxed. The jock is just as intoxicated as Timothée remembers, his friends huddled with him while the cops take statements. One of his friends finds him, a female alpha who launched immediately to his direction, making Timothée flinch and step back when growled. 

“It’s  _ this _ bitch!” She screeched furiously, an arm extended forward to drag him into the fiasco. “This  _ whore  _ offers up himself like a fucking display and then-”

The alpha steps between her and Timothée, effectively blocking her as he stalks to his side to shield him. “For once in your life, play along.” It was a whisper, meant only for the two of them to hear. 

Timothée is too dumbfounded by everything he found upon leaving his work to even function at the moment. Even more derailing was the alpha putting him behind protectively. 

“I’m with him. What happened was harassment, plain and simple. Don’t return and this won’t get bigger than this.” The alpha warns them. 

College kids are only so brave. The rest of the group is resigned to back out already. The cops nod and they’re escorted away. There were still slurs and curses thrown by the jock and his female alpha friend, but they’re all irrelevant to Timothée at the moment. 

God, he’s so turned on that there’s absolutely no hiding it. 

The alpha is tense but not any less affected. Before turning to face him, he takes a deep breath. “I had been around when I saw him waiting out. Drunks aren’t very secretive of their intentions.” 

Timothée is blushing furiously as he forces himself to nod. It stops to matter that there was a college kid who had wanted to beat him up for refusing his advances. The arousal is so thick in the air that they could taste it. It was mortifying yet enticing. 

Another shaky breath. The alpha doesn’t know how to go from here either. “You can’t take a cab like this - fuck.” He’s pacing now. His scent is a mix of his strong arousal and frustration. 

Timothée squirms and looks back to the bar. “I can just wait it out. Take my blockers again.” 

“Those goddamn things!” The alpha runs his hand through his hair. “Come on. I’ll drive you.” 

Now, Timothée feels entitled to opposing outright. “Really? At this rate?” 

The alpha returns his stare. They look at each other, massively unimpressed. “Fine, I’ll call you an Uber. Where do you live?” His phone is already out, waiting for Timothée to give his address. 

“Flatbush,” Timothée replies, and the alpha’s face just hits a different level of aggravation. 

“At this rate?” The alpha returns his words to him. 

Timothée already knows they’re on opposite ends of the social strata, but that doesn’t mean he’s not enraged when it’s rubbed on his face. “I never asked for your help. You’re just as unwanted here as that jock.” 

The fury is coming off of him in waves. The alpha is taken by surprise, so Timothée takes this opportunity to push past him and hail himself a cab. He doesn’t make an effort to push down his anger, much better this than the blatant arousal that threatened them both earlier. It shouldn’t happen, and they’re both inviting temptation with what they’re doing. Timothée knows it’s not what he wants, but God, he  _ needs. _

If they’re really so connected, then naturally the alpha would know what he truly feels about this. Just as Timothée thought, he was grabbed by the arm and dragged to a car parked nearby. 

“What do you think you’re doing?!” He demands, but his feet go willingly. 

“You’re telling me where you live and I’m dropping you off.” Nothing more. It needed to be said, especially with how riled up they got with each other. 

Timothée feels stung by it, as though he’s rejected when logically it’s the right thing to do. “Let me go! What gave you the right over me?” 

The alpha pressed him against the side of his car, unlocking it and pushing him inside. Timothée struggled to get away yet it only spurred the tension between them. When his hands caught the fabric of the alpha’s clothes, it became hard to tell if he pushed or held him there. It didn’t matter so much in the end, when the alpha climbs in the car and crawls over him. 

They’re kissing. Timothée only realized it fully when their tongues are shoved in each other’s mouths, when their hips are grinding their groins. There’s slick in his ass, so turned on that his body wants to give fully into it. There’s growling and moaning, so intertwined that there’s no telling who made which sound. It took a pained yelp to throw them back to reality. 

There’s pain spreading from the back of his head, and the alpha is looking at him worriedly. Timothée doesn’t know anymore how he got it, but it does the job. They don’t need words to say it, and he pushes the alpha gently off of his body, nodding his compliance, wishing that they could get this over with and put it all behind them. 

“No one needs to know.” Timothée promised him. “You have my word, I swear it.” 

“My God,” The alpha crawls back out of the car and tugs his hair angrily. “Who are  _ you? _ ” He demands again. 

Timothée wants to return the anger, but they’re fast turning into an attraction if they don’t turn this down. “I’ll tell you anything you want. Please,  _ please  _ come back in. Let’s drive away.” 

The alpha’s eyes are glazing over as he speaks. Timothée doesn’t have the heart to let him down. Whatever might be asked of him on the way to Flatbush, he knows he would deliver. 

It took a few more steadying breaths before the alpha walked to his side of the car. Timothée doesn’t know what to make of the fact that he owns a car in New York, but before he could begin to dissect the implications, they’re already hitting the road. 

“I’m causing your blockers to fail.” It’s not even a question at this point. 

Timothée looks out the window. He has no clue on how they plan to do this. The stench of their sex is still thick in the air, just the same are their own individual arousals, then Timothée’s slick. It was the most uncomfortable edging that they both know will get no relief. 

“I need to save up to see a doctor, get a new prescription. I’ve used it since I presented; cheap brand, can easily fail with little triggers.” Timothée thinks of more to say to add to the dismissal in his statement. 

The alpha only scoffs, not buying it. “Yeah, sure. Totally nothing to do with how we’re driving each other nuts.” 

“You’re claimed  _ and  _ married.” Timothée reminds him, but it’s as bad as sandpaper on his tongue. 

The alpha grips the steering wheel tighter. “Who are you?” He repeats. 

“Timothée Chalamet.” It’s an inadequate response. It answered absolutely nothing. “You?” 

“I told you my name in the cafe. You’ve heard it.” He answers. 

“Armie?” Timothée tries to get a feel of the name. 

The alpha catches himself just as he’s turning his head to look. Armie, indeed. And he’s just as helpless to their pull as Timothée is. 

That’s good. And bad. God, there’s really no telling those apart anymore. 

“We shouldn’t bother getting to know each other.” Timothée wants to stand his ground. Despite the stink, their scents, his slick. 

“I agree.” 

And that was that. The next time they opened their mouths to talk, it was to tell Armie where exactly he is in Flatbush. The more they go deeper into the neighborhood, the harder Armie frowns. Yes, it’s not the best. Yes, it could be dangerous. Yes, he goes home late every weekend. Timothée knows it’s not a good choice, but it’s looking much brighter right next to where he finds himself at the moment. 

“That’s my building.” Timothée is already unlocking the door before the car could pull over. 

Armie reaches over and slams the door shut. “Let me help.” 

Timothée glares at him. “I don’t want your pity.” 

“I don’t pity you. I’m being  _ accountable.  _ I’m one half of this problem. Let me help.” Armie meant the doctor’s fee. 

“I’m only a couple of bucks short. I’ll manage.” 

“By what? Selling yourself to patrons?” 

Timothée wants the ground to open up and swallow him. At the same time, he wants to claw at Armie and demand to know just who he thinks he is to barge into his life like this. Timothée had been good. He worked to afford to upgrade his failing medication. He kept his distance. He’s trying his best. 

“Look, I’m sorry. I-”

“Stop! Shut up.” Timothée can barely see past the tears gathered in his eyes. He can’t let them fall, no matter what. “Let me out, let me out!” He starts to slam his palm on the window when the door won’t give. 

“Timothée, please, stop-” Armie reaches to his shoulder, but he flinches away. 

“Don’t touch me!” He screams, hysterical with shame and fury and pain. “I’ve been good. I did  _ everything  _ on my own. I know you’re married. I didn’t do  _ anything. _ ” 

“Yes, yes you are. You’re the better one between us two, come on. I need you to calm down.” 

The same instincts that pulled him to the man lulled Timothée to ease into being pacified. He hates just how largely affected he is, how his body is just bending over backwards to move as Armie wants him to. It’s only when he finally settles back into his skin that he realizes the caress on his head. Armie is stroking his hair. It was the best comfort he’s ever felt in  _ years, _ and it comes with the shattering guilt in the pit of his stomach. He shrugs off the contact. Armie takes his hand away. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean it like that.” Armie is tentative as he says each word. “I don’t know you, or your life, and I don’t have the right to any of it. I just want to do this one thing.” 

Only silence follows it. Timothée lets it drag on for long, until he hears Armie sigh. 

“I’ll write you a check if you don’t-”

“Five hundred dollars.” Timothée blurts. “I’ll take it, and we can forget about each other for the rest of our lives.” 

Armie takes his wallet out and plucks out his bills. “Seven hundred. Take it all.” 

Even if he sounded eager to get rid of Timothée, he’s not offering the cash. 

“Do you want me to sign somewhere?” Timothée demands sarcastically. 

Armie doesn’t rise to the bait. He gulps audibly and gives him the money. The doors unlock. 

“Don’t come home to your spouse smelling like me.” Timothée doesn’t look back to see Armie’s reaction. His smell tells it all. 

Armie is devastated to see him go. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Medical bullshit coming through, just in time for a pandemic. I hate it here. 
> 
> Anyway! Thank you for the comments. And why, hello. I am pleasantly surprised with y’all who came from OSLSN lmao thank you thank you 🥺 I know we voted on enemies to lovers but let me just get this out of my system haha. 
> 
> Disclaimer. I don’t condone shit like this.

Despite having received money, Timothée still hasn’t gone to the doctor. It’s seven hundred and seventy-five. The bills are lying on his bedside table, kept in place by being tucked under his lamp. First of all, no one should be carrying this much cash, but then money doesn’t seem like a problem to Armie. And then, there goes Timothée’s remaining self-respect. Everyday, he wakes up with a hollow in his chest, and when he sees the money on his bedside table it’s like acid is poured in it. There’s no more need to gather tips in his workplaces, but if it hadn’t been for that then Armie wouldn’t have seen his problem and decided to help. Help, it turns out, is paying him seven hundred and seventy-five dollars. For his blockers, for his silence, for Armie’s peace of mind. 

All of it paled in comparison to how much their kiss plagued Timothée. The touch seemed to have awakened Timothée completely. He wakes up in sweat and slick, and his days start or end or both with him touching himself to the memory of their mouths locked on each other, their dicks lined up perfectly to grind. Sometimes, when his lust clouds him utterly, he would think more. If Armie is a patient lover in bed. How he would take time to open him up if he is. Whether or not Armie fucks hard or gently. How he would choose to do it if it’s Timothée lying in his bed. The answers would differ just as the days turn, but what stays the same is the rippling orgasms that shake him to his core and leave him wanting more and more of the man. 

Timothée really should visit the doctor. 

For economical reasons, Timothée waits until his old scent blockers run out. They’re taken at four to six hours interval or as needed. A bottle of sixty pills barely lasted him three weeks. It could’ve worked out, except that Armie has shown up for two consecutive Friday nights at the bar. In his defense, he doesn’t seem to be too thrilled to be there either. It appears to be after-work drinks. He’s with colleagues who wear the same shiny suits and expensive accessories. Of course the blockers would fail, and Armie could tell from across the room, but before he can fix Timothée with whatever version of disappointment or irritation, he’s already disappeared into the break room to take another. 

After the second Friday night that Armie returned, he showed up at Sunday, but this time before Timothée could begin his shift. 

“I hope no one’s making a habit of camping outside my workplace.” Timothée’s blockers instantly failed at the sight of him. 

Armie sighs. “You’re _still_ not switching.” 

“I will. Tomorrow. I don’t have work.” Timothée glances over to the bar, itching to get away. “Besides, I wanted to finish the bottle I bought. I don’t know if I’m the first poor person you’ve met and if so, then hi.” 

Armie is not amused with him in the slightest. It’s not in his face and it’s not in his scent. “Give me your phone.” 

“Why?” 

“I’ll take you tomorrow.” 

Timothée doesn’t know what to make of that. “What?” 

It’s obviously a difficult proposition on Armie’s part. “Let me take you to a doctor. Tomorrow. I’ll pick you up.” 

“I’m walking to my appointment.” The response is way off the topic, but Timothée is too disoriented for this. 

For a moment, Armie looked apprehensive. “Fine. I’ll go with you even if you walk to get there.” 

“I never asked you to.” Timothée feels defensive, especially with the way Armie puts it. 

“No, but I _need_ to.” 

Timothée’s anger is rising rapidly. “Why? So you can sleep better at night?” 

“Yes!” Armie was wide-eyed when he answered. He looks away and takes a deep breath. “Won’t you just make things easier for us?” 

It’s the omega’s fault. Whether it’s the disruption of a workplace or sending alphas ballistic or inspiring disgust from everyone else. It’s always, inherently because the omega existed. Which is a funny thing, considering the objectification and fetishization of this secondary sex. 

“No, no. Shit, no, hey, look at me.” Armie tentatively reaches forward, slowly putting his hands on Timothée’s shoulder and waiting for him to flinch. “Timothée, come on. Look at me.” 

“I didn’t choose this.” That was all he said. 

Armie grips his shoulders. He hates how willingly he goes when he’s led inside his car. The weeks that went by erased the traces of their frenzy. Now it’s going to be replaced with Timothée’s blinding hurt and shame. He wonders if anyone had smelled it before. If they’re smelling it again. They would be able to tell it’s from the same omega, unless it’s a beta. Timothée wonders if it would tell a story. His, hopefully. 

When Armie enters on the driver’s side, he takes a full minute before talking. “I’m sorry. I don’t blame you for this.” 

Timothée notes, absently, that apologies come easier from Armie, despite being an alpha of prominence. He nods, accepting. “Are you going to lock me in here again until I agree to what you want?” 

Armie’s scent comes in flashes of guilt. 

“No, don’t. I don’t want to hear one more time how sorry you are.” Timothée snaps. 

The guilt in the air remains. At least Armie closed his mouth. He’s looking to approach things differently. “The last thing I want is to blame you. Of course it’s _not_ your fault. That’s why I’m trying to offer anything that I can do to take this off your shoulders.” 

“You can start by not showing up everywhere I work.” Timothée eyes him, surprised when he actually looks sheepish. 

“The bar, well, take my word for it but I’ve tried. It’s a preference of my colleagues.” 

“The cafe?” 

Armie purses his lips. “Well, yeah. That was on me.” 

“And here I thought it’s because we make good coffee.” Timothée says sarcastically. “Why?” 

“I was curious.” Armie confesses quickly. “And then I just wanted to check on you, I guess.” 

Armie is attracted to him because of the bond, but in the end it’s nothing more than his sense of responsibility keeping him around. 

“Alright, give me your number.” Timothée takes his phone out and hands it over. 

There’s a wave of relief, and then followed by a tinge of embarrassment for being so open about it. Armie gives a small smile as he accepts the phone and puts his numbers in. When Timothée receives it back, he writes a message to Armie’s number and sends it. 

_Timothée Chalamet._ That’s all it said. 

Armie’s curiosity is written all over his face, but he doesn’t dare to verbalize it. Good choice. He’s pushed his luck enough times. 

“Tomorrow, after lunch. You know where I live.” Timothée gets out of the car and walks away. 

When he smells Armie in the air, he’s brimming with satisfaction that the alpha is still longing as they part. 

Timothée was in considerably lighter spirits when he worked his shift that night. Even Don could spare him a slight upturn of his lips. That was nice. They don’t celebrate but it’s the closest they can get. As long as Don doesn’t find out why, then it’s good enough. The bar was a lot tamed that night too. No one tried to pick a huge brawl, just the usual drunken shouting. Sure Timothée got hit on, but none of them were crazed and entitled. They were told off and pouted by the bar until one of their friends picked them off of the stool. 

When he gets home that night, Timothée sees again the money weighed down by his lamp on his bedside table. He’ll wake up in a few hours to Armie waiting for him outside of his building. It was a new fantasy. Armie is married, but what if he’s married to Timothée? He spreads his legs and puts his fingers in him, stroking his cock deftly as he imagines Armie hovering on top of him, touching him, kissing him. No matter what his stature says, Timothée thinks he’s a considerate husband, would take time to pleasure him and get him off. Knotting isn’t regular sex, but between spouses, it’s part of it. Timothée pushes nearly up to his knuckles with three fingers inside him, yet he knows the stretch will not compare. He wonders if his slick is enough to ease the way, then thinks of just how the slide of his cock would sound as Armie thrusts inside. He wonders if he could stretch enough to take his knot. He wonders…

Timothée explodes in his hand and soaked his sheets with slick. Even he could smell the stench of his arousal in the air. He gets up. At least his lights are off. He peels the sheets silently and takes them to the washer. His old, rundown secondhand machine would collapse on him at this rate. Sighing, he takes fresh sheets from the closet and puts it on his bed. Whatever problem he might have, he can deal with later. 

Come morning, Timothée wakes up with a jolt. He’s sweaty and horny, again. Tossing the blankets aside, he walks to the bathroom before he could ruin his new sheets. It’s already ten, but he’ll manage. He tries to wash his arousal away with a cold shower, yet all it does is prick his already sensitive skin. Leaning against the wall, he takes his dick in his hand and jerks himself off until his release pushes out of him. The pleasure and relief, the guilt and shame; they can all go down the drain. It’s going to be a tough day. 

When the time finally comes, Timothée has eaten brunch, folded his sheets, and cleaned his flat. He dressed himself into comfortable clothes that are uncomplicated and easy to strip out of. The offensive scent blockers are in his bag still, and he figures to bring it along in case he’s asked. The suppressants too, for good measure. Finally, the bills on his bedside table. He picks it up with a sigh. 

_I’m outside your building._ The text message reads. Armie sent it exactly at one. 

Timothée takes a deep breath, and goes down to meet him. 

“Let’s,” he greets with a nod and waves to the direction of the clinic. He can tell the moment that Armie realizes that he’s not wearing blockers, he can smell his response to it. 

Before anything else gets to be said, Timothée turns on his heels to go, never once bothering to look if Armie is following him. He doesn’t need to. The longing rolls off of him in waves that the entire street had to be aware of the alpha strutting behind him like he’s on a leash. It’s the most sickening empowerment Timothée has allowed himself to feel. 

The clinic has been expecting him. The appointment has been made after Timothée received the money from Armie. The receptionist eyes him curiously, intrigued by the dashing alpha following him inside. She’s not allowed to say a word, and so she doesn’t. They’re led inside right away. 

“Do you want me to-” Armie awkwardly points to the hallways where the seats are. “I can wait out here if you’re-”

The irritation that rises from Timothée shuts him up. “I’m not repeating everything the doctor will say to you. Go in.” 

The doctor is a pretty brunette with striking blue-gray eyes. “Mr. Chalamet, good afternoon.” She greets them, motioning to the chairs with her hand. “This is your first time in our clinic, is that correct?” 

Timothée likes her. She’s friendly and accepting. “Yes, it is.” 

“I’m Dr. Francine Howard. And this gentleman is your?” She glances over at Armie, with no trace of judgment on her face. 

“He’s a friend. He’s helping me out.” Timothée supplies. Armie smiles tensely at his side. 

Dr. Howard nods her head, still passive and kind. “Okay, so basic info?” She takes a pen and waits for him to nod. “Full name, current address, permanent address, age, birthday.” 

“Timothée Hal Chalamet. Currently in Flatbush, Brooklyn, New York. Permanent, Hell’s Kitchen, Manhattan, New York. I’m twenty-one, born 28th of December.” 

Dr. Howard bobs her head as he speaks. “Just a few more.” She smiles and makes a pinching gesture with her hand. It made Timothée smile. “Place of birth, nationality, citizenship.” 

Timothée sighs. “Uh, well. Le Chambon-sur-Lignon, France.” 

Dr. Howard’s brows fly up to her forehead. “Woah, wait. I can’t spell that. I’m assuming you're French-American, then? Dual citizen?” He nods. “Alright, spell that one out to me.” 

Timothée recites his birthplace letter by letter. He tries to ignore how fixated Armie seems to be on the details of his life. 

Leaning back on her chair, Dr. Howard holds up the record and says all the information back to him, just to check. Timothée confirms them. “Now, your medical history.” 

“I presented at seventeen. I’ve been on suppressants since, also scent blockers.” Timothée doesn’t really know what else to say. 

“Sexually active?” Timothée is grateful for how her eyes never once flitted towards Armie. 

“No, not since,” he pauses, thinking. “Going two years now, I think.” 

Dr. Howard writes them down dutifully. “No natural heat, ever?” 

“None.” 

“You’re looking to change your scent blockers because they’re failing? Can I see them?” 

Timothée takes out the bottle. Dr. Howard sees his suppressants too so he shows that as well. 

When she clicks her tongue, Timothée knows she doesn’t approve. “And you’ve been using this since you’re seventeen?” He nods. “Well, that’s quite a problem. They work okay, but only for about two years after presenting. You’d naturally need something stronger.” 

There’s something else she wants to say, but she stops to let them absorb this first. 

Timothée clears his throat. “Yeah, I live alone? I work for myself. A trip to the doctor isn’t really…” He trails off weakly. 

Dr. Howard shakes her head at him, assuring. “But you went today.” She says. 

“And the other?” When her face turns gravely serious, Timothée braces himself. 

“It’s about your suppressants. So these?” She holds the bottle up for them to see. “Think of it as a transition pill. It is a suppressant, but only for a year or two. Teenage years.” 

“I was told that they could still work so long as I don’t spend my heat with anyone.” 

Dr. Howard considers this. “There’s some truth to that, but you’re twenty-one. That’s an adult. You need a different medication.” 

Timothée breathes out slowly. He doesn’t know if he can afford all this. “Can’t I be on them a little while longer?” 

“Can I call you Timothée?” Dr. Howard asks. He nods, and he knows she’s about to deliver a huge blow. “It’s not supposed to work.”

“It does though.” 

“That’s why I need to do some tests on you, to confirm something.” Dr. Howard tells him, and he’s already protesting. “Timothée, it’s fine. The bills, you can worry about them later.” 

“I’d cover the rest.” Armie blurts out.

Timothée hates that he’s here right now. He turns, ready to kick him out, but Dr. Howard reaches forward and gets his attention. 

“It’s important.” She waits until he’s facing her again. “Male omegas find it harder to conceive, but they _can._ My concern is that, think of it as a woman who doesn’t get her period for years. Your lack of heat, or the weakness of it that it can be suppressed by this medication, tells me that you might be having fertility issues.”

Timothée gapes openly. He doesn’t know what to feel, but the air smells of shock and grief. He realizes it’s Armie’s. 

Dr. Howard is still patiently watching them until they seem to have taken the news completely. “We can perform physicals right now, and I’ll also take samples to send to a lab.” 

“How different will the results be? Between the physicals and the lab?” 

“They’re usually complementary.” 

“Then I don’t need the lab.” Timothée stands up. 

Dr. Howard rises to her feet. “They can reveal more details about your real condition.” 

“I refuse it.” Timothée knows they can’t do anything about that. 

Sighing, Dr. Howard nods and motions to another door. “Is your friend-”

“If possible, the findings.” He makes a vague gesture with his hand. “Just say them once we’re back out here. I don’t think I can repeat everything.” 

_I don’t think I can take everything on my own,_ is what he wanted to say. Armie doesn’t protest against any of it. Timothée doesn’t spare him a look.

When they enter, Timothée is handed a hospital gown to change into. 

“There’s the changing area.” Dr. Howard points to the curtain in the corner. “You can leave your clothes there, too. It has a shelf.” 

Timothée feels disconnected to his body. It’s hard to keep up with how everything he thought to be bad about him could be even worse. Now, he’s not simply the omega who’s all alone in life. He’s also on his way to be named as the unwanted, barren omega. The reflection he sees in the mirror inspires nothing but hatred from him. Taking the hospital gown, he wears it and ties it on the back, as if it would solve his body image and self-esteem issues. 

“Height and weight first, okay?” Dr. Howard leads him to the scales, writing down everything. “So? How long have you been together?” 

The question confused him so much that it took a few moments before he could respond. “Oh him. No, he’s not. We’re not like _that._ ” 

Dr. Howard means well, genuinely, and the answer confuses her visibly. “Really?” 

“Yeah,” Timothée confirms, slightly panicked especially since Armie wears a ring. That would change everything she thinks of him, and he doesn’t want to pay her kindness with disappointment. “How did you come to that?” 

Offhandedly, Dr. Howard replies “It’s how he looks at you.” She doesn’t elaborate further than that. They need to get moving to the bed. 

The examination involved endless poking and prodding. Timothée can barely register the stretch of it. Dr. Howard would need to tap him sometimes, just to get a response. Everything was gentle and came with enough warning. It was a very considerate process. She takes notes wordlessly and instructs him with a tender touch and encouraging smile. By the end of it, he slips back into his clothes like nothing happened. 

All is changed, of course. This is not the time to dwell on that. 

When they returned to the room, Armie looked sheepish when caught pacing. He avoids Timothée’s eyes when he sits back to his chair. 

“You’re right on the line between underweight and normal. Diet plays a huge role in health, you know this.” Dr. Howard eyes him chidingly, but all in good spirits. “Based on my preliminary findings - please note I am _not_ diagnosing - your body did not develop fully to carry a child; that means your hips, your thighs, your center of gravity is on your chest. I can print it and send you the figure. Now, you have symptoms, but for me to write anything, a lab test is needed. I am not saying, in full confidence, that you cannot bear a child. What I find only tells me it’s going to be very difficult to conceive and carry it to term.” 

Timothée needs to take this one step at a time, or else he’ll break down in this office and would be of no use to anyone. “Should I still change my suppressants?” 

“If you think you can afford to try, then I’d advise you don’t take it and wait if a heat will come in three to six months. Only if you have someone with you, please. It’s risky. If it doesn’t, that’s a whole other ordeal. Again, lab tests. If it does, then you need to come back and we’ll see which suppressants would be fit for you.” 

“If I don’t take it for six months, then a heat comes and I return to it and it works again. Is that okay?” 

Dr. Howard is disapproving. “Not advisable.” 

Timothée shrugs. “I’m all alone. I need to know if I’m wasting money on suppressants.” 

“Timothée, I really would like for you to consider the lab tests. Only then can I give my informed medical advice.” Dr. Howard pleads. 

This visit is over. Timothée doesn’t think he can take another minute in this office, no matter how kind she is. “I want to go. It’s a lot.” 

Dr. Howard can only sigh and nod. She writes him a new prescription for better scent blockers. Her secretary comes in later and they settle the bill. There’s a consolation in the fact that Timothée didn’t need Armie to cover any more than he’s already provided. In fact, there’s still four hundred dollars of it left, even after purchasing two bottles of his new blockers. 

They stepped outside and it’s already late in the afternoon. He turns to face Armie. “There you have it. Sleep tight tonight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.” 

“Timothée, wait-”

“What?” 

Armie inhales deeply before speaking. “At least, let me walk you home. My car is out there too.” 

It’s annoying that Armie isn’t doing it because he wants to. Timothée knows he doesn’t have the right to demand it, but he’s not at all feeling very rational right now. 

“Well clearly I don’t have a choice.” 

The walk back to his building is silent. Armie feels more and more like a kicked puppy trailing behind him. Timothée ignores it. He tries not to think about how he’s quite possibly infertile, but it’s all that’s in his mind right now. There’s also the humiliation of something so private being exposed to someone who’s as good as a stranger. 

Not to mention the fact that it’s Armie. Just another reason why Timothée is just a waste of his time. As if the fact that he’s married and claimed aren’t doing it. 

“Here we are.” Timothée says as they stand outside his building. 

Armie is still reluctant to part. He’s not even doing anything to hide it. “What’s next for you now?” 

“Dinner, for sure. Other than that, I can’t answer any further.” 

Even if Armie is staring at him blankly, his scent tells the entire block that he’s concerned. 

“What? Want to join me?” 

Timothée doesn’t miss how much Armie perked up at the suggestion. Immediately, Armie thought the better of it, but then...

“Come on, then.” Timothée says and he turns right away, not wanting to see his refusal if it’s coming. 

In truth, Timothée feels like he owes it to himself to indulge in a little something, especially with how rough he’s had it these couple of months. It just so happens to be a morally unacceptable dinner with a married man that he has a scent bond with. Armie is his own person. He’s one half of this decision, just as he’s one half of the problem that brought them here. When Timothée’s scent spikes in relief when Armie joins him on his way to dinner, they don’t talk about it. The current between them is humming but inviting. They don’t talk about that either. 

Timothée brings them to a sleazy diner that he doesn’t dare to frequent because their burgers will cause him to pop an artery if he’s not careful. Armie looks apprehensive as they arrive, but Timothée doesn’t regard him at all. If he comes in, that’s his decision. 

It’s all a very immature and frankly manipulative way of handling things. Timothée wants none of the accountability if this thing blows over, but that doesn’t mean he won’t lead Armie on when he’s not showing any resistance. The burger joint is obviously way below Armie’s lifestyle, yet he sits across Timothée in the rundown booth. 

“Culture shocked?” Timothée asks, but his eyes are on the menu. 

“I’ve been to diners before.” Something about Armie’s reply communicates his irritation about what he’s implying. 

Who cares? “Sure. You can fake order so I don’t eat like your pet.” 

Whatever Armie wants to say dies down in his throat as Timothée flags down a waitress and orders a Philly cheesesteak sandwich, fries and beer. She turns to him, and Armie tells her he’s having a double patty cheeseburger, wedges and beer. 

Timothée is still gawking at him after the waitress left their table. “I hope you’re not eating that if you can’t. I live in a studio apartment. I can’t take care of you if you get sick on me.”

Armie fixed him with a glare. “Stop talking like that.” 

“How should I talk to you? I mean, I do owe you a bunch.” 

“That way! Stop it.” 

Now, Timothée is genuinely confused. “What?” 

Armie sighs, exasperated. “You’re making it about money.” 

“And? Isn’t it?” Timothée questions, crossing his arms on his chest. 

“No, it isn’t.” 

“Not even if I offer to pay you back?” 

The connotation only hits them belatedly. Timothée flushes and Armie narrows his eyes at him. 

He sighs again. “Please at least let me know if you’re considering the lab tests.” 

“Okay, I let you do as you please up until the blockers because that concerns you. We’re talking about my fertility here. I’m sure that’s none of your business.” 

Armie wants to protest. 

“Just because you were there doesn’t mean you’re granted the rights to have a say on it.” 

Timothée stares him down until he balks under his gaze. Armie’s jaw is clenched, his eyes hard and agitated. Still, he keeps his protests to himself. They keep this tense silence until their food arrives. It was a good distraction. Even Armie looks interested. This place does serve good food; the owner developed the recipes and he comes in to cook every now and then. It’s a family business. 

“This is going to put me in the gym longer.” Armie says absently as he looks at his order. 

Timothée snorts at him. They dig in silently. It was the first filling meal he’s had in weeks. 

The city is dark out already at six. The walk back isn’t very long but satisfying enough. Timothée feels sleepy with how much he ate. 

As they stood outside his building, Timothée says “Well, this is it. You’ll never smell me again after.” 

It was an offhand comment, sort of like a parting remark to make it more final. It makes Armie whip around to face him though. He obviously didn’t realize that this is where it’s going. Of course he knew - that was the point - but it’s so easy to miss. 

Timothée doesn’t even blame him. “What? You act like you don’t know.” 

“You’ll still smell me.” 

“Don’t worry, I can’t afford to drag you to a clinic and buy your scent blockers. Stink away.” 

Armie looks horrified. He smells like it too. It’s so potent that the people who pass them turn to check. Timothée knows this will end badly for him so he pulls Armie aside. 

“What? You’re making everyone think-”

Timothée forgets what he wants to say when Armie touches his face with his palm. It’s only then did he realize that they’re standing so close after he pulled to stand away from the street. Their noses fill with their scents, and it’s quick to escalate from there. Both communicate just how much they want each other, and yet the layers of uncertainty and guilt remain. 

More than anything, Timothée notices the smooth feel of Armie’s hand. “You’re not wearing your ring.” It was a reminder. 

Armie flinched, like he’s snapping back to reality. “I didn’t want to embarrass you.” 

Right. No matter how kind and gentle, Timothée doubts Dr. Howard would think lightly of a married alpha accompanying a young, unmated omega for a checkup. 

“Why would you touch me?” Timothée feels spiteful of Armie’s whims. 

It’s a stupid, stupid thing do. Everything is already hard enough as it is. 

“You mentioned it’s the last time!” 

“You’re _married!_ ” 

They stared at each other, heated and riled up again. 

“You know nothing good will come out of this.” Timothée walks away and into his building. 

The night could just end there. Timothée would retire to his flat and mourn his loss, whether it’s his chance with Armie or chance with children, it doesn’t matter. Armie would drive away and come home to his spouse and do what married people do. Instead, Armie follows him inside and crowds him against the wall. 

When he’s trapped between his arms, Armie growls “You’re driving me _insane._ ”

Timothée knows he has to stand his ground. It’s difficult when it’s against everything his body is screaming at the moment, but at least he can free himself of the blame. 

“I won’t be held accountable for your actions.” 

“I will carry the burden. I will carry them _all._ ” 

Armie says it like a vow. He says it with absolute certainty and conviction that stops Timothée’s brain function altogether. His hand returns to his face, and Armie dives in and kisses him like his lips contain the air he breathes. Timothée is helpless against the onslaught of Armie’s blatant desire for him, and his own longing for all that he knows isn't his and never will be. 

“Where’s your flat?” Armie’s hands are on his back, pressing him flat on his chest and whispering against his neck. 

Timothée grabs his face and takes one more kiss before untangling himself from Armie’s embrace. “It’s the third floor. This is a walk-up building.” He goes on his tiptoes and scents Armie, nosing just above his pulse point where he smells the strongest. He gives it a lick. “Give me a headstart. I want you to chase me.” 

When Armie’s scent flares up in thrill, Timothée backs away before bolting up the stairs. He doesn’t look back. If this is it, then he’d live the rest of his life with just the taste of Armie’s mouth. All his assumptive mourning gets squashed down when he hears loud stomps of feet going up the stairs, followed shortly by Armie’s scent; excited with the chase and maddeningly aroused. 

Timothée arrives on the landing of his floor, just as he sees Armie closing the last staircase. They’re so close, but Timothée sprints to his door still. It was hopeless. Armie is carried by his impossibly long legs and muscular physique. Before Timothée could get the door to his flat, Armie had grabbed him by the arm and pressed him against the wall, scenting him just as Timothée did on the ground floor before kissing him fully, filthily on the mouth. 

“Open it.” Armie twirls him to face the door. “Just like this.” He’s feeling him up; running his hands from his torso down to his hips then his thighs. 

Timothée struggles to stay on his feet, jabbing the key blindly to his door. Armie is still fixated on him, bending down to smell the top of his head, tilting it back so his neck is exposed. Shakily, Timothée finds the keyhole and twists, right in the exact moment that Armie licks another line from his neck to his jaw. 

They stumble inside and come together just as quickly. Armie kicks the door shut behind him, then pauses to take in the smell of his apartment. It was enthralling to watch Armie’s head rise into the air, eyes closing as his nostrils fill with everything that Timothée owns, even more so when he evidently enjoys what he smells. 

“Is this what you wanted?” Timothée is giving him another chance to back away. 

Armie notes the uncertainty in his voice, and instead of making him reconsider it urges him to rush to his side, comforting. “ _God,_ I wouldn’t even wish to stay away.” He said it so desperately that Timothée feels helpless but to fall in his arms. 

There’s a moment when Armie just strokes the hair falling around his face before tucking them behind his ear. Timothée’s eyes close on its own accord, the simple caress sending him afloat. He doesn’t have to look to know how Armie is overpowered with delight. His feet glide across his floor as Armie takes him to the bed. 

They fall on the mattress and meet in the middle to kiss. Now that he’s just arrived back to this space, Timothée can tell the lingering smell of him touching himself. It was even more intense for Armie. Suddenly, he’s growling, shrugging off his clothes like they burn on his skin. Timothée wants him to take the initiative and undress him. Another blame to shift, but Armie did say he’d take them all. 

“Can you smell me?” Timothée challenges, his eyes burning on Armie as he spreads his legs. “You’re where I’ve touched myself thinking of you.” 

It gave him his desired result. Armie pounced on him, latching his mouth against his while he worked his clothes off of his body. Smiling triumphantly, Timothée sprawls himself openly on the sheets. Armie doesn’t waste a second and grips his open trousers before tugging them completely off of his legs. The slick between his thighs flows steadily, another scent to get drunk on. Armie lifts his hips slightly so he can put his mouth on his hole, his tongue prodding and licking at him. 

Timothée hissed, rising off the bed and gripping on Armie’s hair. No one has done this for him, not the stupid boyfriends he kept around for a few months or the convenient fuck buddies he had. It was an utterly new sensation, and then Armie just had to add his fingers and push inside. All was lost for Timothée. His orgasm breaks him completely and his entire body spasms as he comes, the thick ropes of it landing on his stomach while slick gushes out and onto Armie’s hand. 

“Beautiful,” he breathes, going up to capture his lips into a kiss. 

Limp and pliant, Timothée follows the movement of Armie’s mouth against his, opening when his tongue pushes forward, moaning as he hums into the kiss. The fingers are still working him open, wider and wider until it feels loose enough to add two more. 

Timothée gasps. “Oh my God!” He shouts, feeling each of the four fingers stretching him. “How much more? Oh - oh!” 

Armie doesn’t let him up. “It’s going to be painful.” 

Fidgeting, Timothée tries his best to adjust, relaxing and breathing in and out so he can make it easier for himself.

“That’s good. You’re doing very good.” The praise makes Timothée preen, and as though to plunge him further down, Armie begins to kiss around his face. His cheeks, his chin, his nose, his forehead, his eyelids. “Very good, Timothée.” 

It turns out to be the most effective way of loosening him up. Shortly after, his body is accepting the fingers easily, the muscles following when they spread him so open the Timothée can feel the air in it. 

“Won’t you get in me yet?” Timothée asks, crossing his legs behind Armie’s pelvis to lock him over him. 

Armie shoves his fingers to the knuckles and opens them inside him. “You think you can now?” 

Timothée has never presented himself before, always feeling insulted by the act. Tonight though, it seems like the only thing he wants to do. Sitting up, Timothée releases Armie’s hips and steals one more kiss from him. He enjoys the feeling of his fingers in his ass, but it could be better. They can have exactly what they’ve thought of all this time of baiting each other. 

With a roll of his hips, Timothée dislodges Armie’s hand from being buried deep. There’s curiosity in his eyes as he waits for Timothée's next move, so when he rolls over and plants his face on the bed with his ass in the air, Armie’s scent explodes in a roaring lust. 

The initial breach was fine, but the more Armie pushes inside the more grateful Timothée becomes for the extensive preparation. 

“Christ,” Timothée grips the sheets, trembling as Armie sheaths himself inch by inch. “Fuck! That’s so _big._ ” 

Armie senses his discomfort and bends forward to trail kisses from his back to his neck, rubbing his skin to ease the penetration. “Let’s take a breather.” 

Timothée nods his head. He’s split open on the alpha’s cock, the length and girth of it overwhelming him that he’s heard white noise come and go in his ears. Whenever it clears, Timothée hears his own small whimpers muffled on the sheets and the light smack of Armie’s lips as he kissed soothingly on his shoulder and nape. 

Tentatively, Timothée pushes against Armie’s crotch to get a feel of it. The tip might as well be in his guts with how deep it’s hitting him inside, but it seems like his body wouldn’t take any other outcome tonight except accommodating Armie completely. 

“Fuck, you’re squirting.” Armie takes his cock out to the tip, allowing the slick to run down the length of it. 

It makes Timothée feel shy, as if there’s still any meaning to that at this point, but he squirms anyway. His face is burning at the idea of how desperately his body is trying to make this work. 

“None of that. Fuck, that was hot.” As if to emphasize his point, Armie sinks back inside.

This time, the push is more than sufficiently lubricated and the muscles have more give to them. Timothée actually feels pleasure from it, and his moan urges Armie to do it again, and again, and again, until they build up a rhythm that works for them. 

The growling is steady in Timothée’s ears. Armie is right on the edge of losing his mind from pounding into him, and it hasn’t even been that long. He returns every sound with a moan and mewl of his own, feeling so much better about it now that he’s finally not forcing his pleasure. 

When Armie puts his hand on his head to pull on his hair, he positively cries out. There’s something incredibly primal in the way that Armie is thrusting in him. It’s so driven by instincts that he submits on his every whim to scent and kiss and touch. Timothée enjoys every second of it, indulges every urge that Armie gets by pushing against him and meeting his touches. By that time, he’s also driving his hips down against Armie’s, his body fully adjusted to his size that they can go on a brutal pace without hurting Timothée.

The base on his dick is swelling as his knot forms. Timothée has never been with an alpha before, and by extension has never been knotted. Even so, the act is not for casual sex. It has more intimate meaning attached to it, so it’s only usually done between exclusive partners. 

With the way that they’re desperately chasing every sensation, what more is another sin against themselves? 

“I’ve never-” The sharp slam of each thrust makes it hard to speak. “With an alpha - ah!” 

Armie makes him stand on his knees by pulling him up with a hand around his neck. They’re pressed chest to back as he continues to drive his dick in his ass. “What did you say?” He nibbles on his earlobe, and if his brain isn’t scrambling to comply Timothée would’ve collapsed completely. 

“You’re the first alpha.” Timothée confesses between his cries. The admission spikes the feral force in which Armie is subjecting him under. Timothée thinks it’s the best time to land the blow. “I’ll let you knot me if you want.”

It’s going to be his call, just like every step of the way that led them here. So what if Timothée set him up half the time? Armie is his own person. He could’ve refused then and he could’ve done so now. 

As expected, Armie is too engulfed in the idea of it, the combined heady scent that is magnified by being in Timothée’s space and the sensation of each drag of his cock against the walls in his ass, that he no longer pauses to think the better of it. He releases Timothée and allows him to fall back to his original position, his face planted on the sheets as Armie grips each side of his ass and spreads it apart. 

It helps, especially that Armie’s knot has swollen full and ready to burst. Timothée has no idea what he just offered, but he’s thrilled by it, to the point that when he finally reaches between his legs to touch himself, he comes all over his sheets right away. His knees gave out before his orgasm could stop, and this seemed to have tipped Armie completely off, his knot popping as he locked himself inside Timothée, his own come releasing in spurts over and over. 

The sheer size of the knot made Timothée scream. He screamed Armie’s name and he whines and cries and whimpers. There are soothing touches all over his skin, kisses from his neck up to the side of his face, shushing noises in his ears. Timothée’s body gives again, his slick flowing steadily until the stretch of the knot loses its friction. From there, Timothée’s head clears until it blanks utterly. He feels drunk from the sensation, each spew of come earning a lewd moan and hum. 

“Feels good.” Timothée hears it said in his voice, but he can’t register it coming from him. 

The angle was completely awkward as they lay on their sides, spooned on the bed, but Armie forces it so he can kiss Timothée on the lips. “You did so well. You’re fucking perfect.” 

Timothée blushes at the compliment. He nuzzles closer against Armie’s chest, and he’s immediately embraced tightly. His consciousness slips away from him just like that. 

When a knot comes down, it’s just as hard to miss as when it pops. Timothée is woken by the slow drag of the length as it’s being pulled out of him. His hole automatically tries to close, and yet still the come and slick runs down from the crack of his ass and down to his thighs and sheets. He’s gaping wide open if he doesn’t make a conscious effort to clench it shut. Armie rolls them and gets off the bed. The only reason why Timothée wasn’t alarmed was because he didn’t bother to put clothes on. 

Armie returns with a damp towel and begins to wipe the come and slick off of his skin. Timothée gets the impression that he’s trying to rid of their sin along with it, but of course that’s to no avail. 

Despite his conviction to put all the blame on Armie, Timothée asks “What have we done?” 

“That’s my problem. Go back to sleep.” 

“Will you be here when I wake up?” 

Armie doesn’t answer. 

“Please?” 

There’s resignation in the air. It belongs to the two of them. 

“Then I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

When Timothée stirs awake it was to the stench of cigarette smoke. It would’ve been confusing, except that he’s sore all over. That in itself was very telling. The clock reads two in the morning. Armie is leaning over the window, wearing only his boxers as he smokes. When he hears the rustle from the bed, he looks over his shoulder, but barely. 

Timothée wants to get this over with. He can still feel the come inside him, which will no doubt run down his thighs when he gets on his feet. Armie is standing in the kitchen where the window is, utterly closed off and aloof. The haze from their frenzy has cleared, and what comes after it is the burning guilt of everything that they’ve done and the pleasure they derived from it. 

Still, Timothée chose to pick up Armie’s dress shirt. It’s big enough to cover him up to the middle of his thighs. He walks over to him like that. 

“Where do you go from here?” He leans against his counter, looking at Armie. 

“Don’t bother yourself with thinking about that.” Armie takes a long drag from his cigarette before turning to face him. His scent goes from somber to delighted. 

Timothée nods, but equally pleased with the reaction he earned from wearing his clothes. “Do you want me to put these in the washer?” 

“I told you. Let me worry about that.” 

“Just trying to be a good host.” 

Armie scoffs. “I think you’ve got that magnificently covered, don’t you think?” 

Timothée knows he should take offense, but the day before and what followed has left him so jaded. “The doors were open. They still are.” 

It seems to be a quirk. When Timothée pushes Armie to leave, he fights it. “I’m not blaming you.” 

“Does it matter? I let you knot me.” Timothée gives him a flat look, unimpressed. 

The memory derails Armie. 

As if he hasn’t picked on the sting of their reckless decision, Timothée says “How’s that for a payback?” 

Now Armie is infuriated. “I did not offer everything that I did to get you into bed with me.” 

“There ain't no such thing as a free lunch.” Timothée stands up before Armie can reply. 

He shrugs off the shirt and lets it fall from his shoulders down to his arms. Timothée knows he’s inviting temptation anew, and he appeases his conscience by turning away from Armie and opening his washer. 

“I’m washing your clothes.” That’s all he says as he tosses the dress shirt inside then picking up the rest of Armie’s clothes and dumping it into the machine. “It shouldn’t take longer than an hour. You can put this behind you permanently very soon.” 

There it is again; Armie’s seemingly knee-jerk opposition to parting ways with him. “Quit it!” 

Timothée barely stops to acknowledge his outburst. “Well? Do you have a suggestion in mind?” 

Armie doesn’t answer, but his scent turns bashful and panicked. 

“What?” Timothée demands, unnerved and curious. “You planning to make me your kept man?” 

Shaking his head, Armie turns away and puts his cigarette out. “Why do you insist on making things difficult?” 

It’s been asked. Timothée doesn’t really have any other answer than the fact that he’s resentful. “Am I? You could’ve just said no.” 

Armie takes a deep breath, like he’s summoning enough courage. “I have a proposition.” 

“Why?” 

“‘What’ would’ve made more sense if you want to start there.” 

“No, I want to start with why.” Timothée stubbornly replies. “Why would you feel the need to? What else is there for us?” 

Armie clenches his jaw. Somehow the question strikes a nerve. “I’d see you again. You’d see _and_ smell me again. Honestly, I’m already fucking tired of the sexual tension that hasn’t happened yet.” 

“So you _are_ making me a kept man!” Timothée exclaims in disbelief. 

Before he could lash out, Armie crowds into his space. “How bad will that be?”

“Why? You’re _married._ What’s your spouse for?”

“You’re not allowed to ask me about my personal life.” 

Timothée breaks the current between them before it could drive him further into the rabbit hole. He turns and paces the small space of his apartment. 

“You want to pay me for sex.” Timothée wants to clarify, just in case he missed a few important notes and ended up misunderstanding. “Is that what you’re saying?” 

It’s a difficult conversation for Armie even if he literally came up with it. “I would demand exclusivity. I’d cover everything that concerns your sexual health. We can negotiate the fees now.” 

“Why?” It all comes down to that. Armie’s previous answer hadn’t been satisfying. 

“I’ve already told you.” 

“If you want to use me for sex, you could at least just tell me truthfully if it’s my ass or my lips or my body type that gets you going.” 

Armie scowls disapprovingly at him. “That’s crude.” 

“I demand to _know._ ” 

“Do you really think we can still keep away from each other? I _knotted_ you on top of our scent bond!” 

Ah, there it is. Of course it boils down to that. 

“And turning me into a sex worker is the solution?” Timothée asks. He doesn’t know what to feel. 

“A service omega.” 

“An _exclusive_ sex worker.” 

Armie finds his cigarette box on the counter and makes a move to light another. Timothée jumps to his feet and stops him. 

“You’re not blowing out toxic smoke to my face as we talk.” Timothée angrily shoves the stick back and pushes it away. 

Armie rolls his eyes. “You’re not interested. Let’s drop it.” 

It’s so ironic how it’s now Timothée’s turn to impulsively want to disagree for the sake of disagreeing. “I didn’t say that. I’m trying to expound the terms.” 

“It’s simple. Exclusive sex, in exchange for money. Your fees are negotiable. We can agree on a fixed pay or per meeting. I will cover your sexual health, which includes your blockers, birth control, suppressants, and checkups. Should anything else come up, I’d take care of it, too.” Armie recites to him, holding his gaze like he’s accepting a court verdict. 

They can’t possibly be in the right headspace to discuss something like this. Timothée is actually considering the offer. It’s Armie. He’ll have him for more than just this night. Sure, it just drops him into a lower pit compared to when Armie saw him using himself to milk bar patrons for tips, but it’s _Armie._

Timothée shakes himself out of it. “Give me figures.” 

Money obviously isn’t an issue. “Five hundred.” 

His brows rise up to his hairline. “That’s per meeting you said.” 

Armie tilts his head at his wording. “How much do you earn from bartending?” 

Well that’s a miserable topic. Timothée answers anyway. “Two hundred and fifty. Because I’m grouchy.” 

“Then it’s eight hundred per meeting. I want you to resign.” Armie stares him head on. It seems like an important thing for him to get out of the way. 

It’s a lot. Not simply because it’s Armie, the man who he has a scent bond with, but also because of the implications of the proposition. Armie is a married man, but offering to purchase his sexual services, exclusively, for eight hundred dollars every meeting. That’s more than he earns from bartending, translating and tutoring combined. 

Timothée is in utter astonishment with his development. “What are we doing, Armie?” 

“This,” Armie takes his chin and tilts his head up. He lets his lips ghost over his cheek and hover right above his lips. “To get to have this.” 

When they kiss, Timothée automatically slings his arms around Armie’s neck and arches into his chest. Their scent spiked simultaneously, their cocks filling into hardness as a result. If they ever have an intention to pick up their discussion after Armie makes his point, it obviously has gone out the window. 

As Armie kisses his neck, Timothée wonders just how much more he’d be willing to go down for just to keep this. It’s intoxicating, and they evidently can’t seem to get along to save their lives but the friction between them just makes everything so painfully delicious. What they are to each other are quickly turning into a vice, and they responded with this knowledge by whipping up a contract for their sexual rendezvous. 

All while Armie is married. It’s so messed up. 

And yet, one kiss convinces him. The touch on his back is a promise enough on its own. Their dicks rubbing against each other are a reminder of what they shared just a couple of hours past. Timothée sinks to his knees, as though it’s the only choice he has, and peels off Armie’s boxer. 

It’s much too thick and lengthy to fit into his mouth, but all that Timothée can, he sucks in with an zealous bob of his head. He keeps his teeth away and hollows his cheek to make the suction better. He works his tongue and licks eagerly along the shaft, slicking it with his spit just enough to ease the way for his hand to squeeze and pump at the base while he suckles the tip. Armie is gripping the counter, his knuckles turning white, and Timothée wants to tip him over the edge. Taking his hand in his, Timothée leads it to his head and rests it there. Armie looks down on him and he meets his gaze, staring up as he obscenely takes his cock in his mouth. Armie’s fingers thread through his hair and tugs. He begins to guide Timothée on his dick as he wants, and he hums, sending vibrations that earned him a shuddering groan. 

When Armie comes down his throat with a shout, Timothée is high and drunk on his power over the man and their effect on each other. 

“Let me,” Armie says, getting him to his feet to return the favor. 

Timothée kisses his cheek with a devious grin. “I already came.” 

Armie finds his come on the floor, some even still on the tip of his dick and he growls, crowding Timothée against his own counter and descending on him with brutal, filthy kisses that sealed the deal. 

There’s no going back from this. 

Before Timothée got up to prepare for work that day, they fucked one more time in the shower - no more knotting, thankfully - then made out shamelessly until the sun was up and their time was clearly over. They leave the building together, as put together as two people who spent their night in frenzied sex could manage. 

“Our contract. Let’s get that in writing. Something to revisit and renegotiate.” Timothée takes his phone out and sends him his email address. 

Armie agrees right away. They part on that note. Until Timothée hasn’t gotten the promised figures from this deal, he’s not letting go of _any_ of his jobs. He might be a stupid, morally crooked asshole, but he’s not about to be scammed. 

The contract doesn’t arrive until the weekend. Timothée ignored Armie’s demand to quit bartending. They’re not on it yet, and rent and utilities will be due soon. Armie wasn’t happy to see him that Friday night, but at least they now know that his new scent blockers work spectacularly. 

_I told you to quit._ Armie didn’t send the text until Sunday afternoon. 

_We haven’t started. Bills won’t wait._ Timothée wraps his hands around his mug as he waits for the reply. 

It didn’t take longer than a minute. _Send me your bank details._

If Timothée does this, then there’s truly no backing out. He’s commodifying his consent to sex and Armie will be entitled to it as per their arrangement. It’s quite possibly the worst he’s ever felt about his life. Even nude modeling and selling bodily fluids to research didn’t run his dignity to the ground like this. 

Except, it’s exclusive, high-paying job that demands him to have sex with the only man Timothée had ever wanted to present for. They have a strong scent bond that makes sex even more than just to scratch an itch. It’s like quenching thirst; a base need that demands to be addressed or it would drive them to insanity. 

Well of course, if it’s only a question if he _wants_ to or not. Timothée would totally do this for free. Armie was right. There’s a different weight to their scent bond after they knotted. It left them high and sated, drunk and craving. They’ve set themselves up for madness and constant urge to touch. If it hadn’t been for the blockers and the crowd of a Friday night during his shift when they saw each other again, Timothée wouldn’t put it past either of them to sneak out just to come together at once. 

God, Timothée knows better than to agree to this. There’s no outcome that won’t result in him broken and bleeding on the ground. Armie would take what he wants out of this and leave once he’s had his fill. He would return to his perfect life and to the spouse he enthusiastically betrayed. Timothée would be left to pick up all the shards of all the things they will shatter along the way. 

Still not a no from him. Timothée sends his bank details and sinks into his bed, tinged with traces of what they’ve committed against all good reason. When his phone chimes again, it’s his account notifying him of a transfer. 

Two thousand dollars. 

The figures made his skin crawl. It’s what he’s worth now. Every amount he accepts would stand in for the services he sold. It’s now his body, all to serve the pleasure of a man. Not even the fact that it’s Armie could stop how the very ordeal tears at his core. 

_Why that much?_ Timothée asks, because if he dwells further in this he would be forced to start thinking about his future, his fertility, his family, all of which just put another brick on his back and threaten to collapse him. 

_Quit tonight. Let’s meet tomorrow to discuss._ Armie responds. 

When Timothée arrived in the bar an hour early, he went straight to Sabine’s office. He handed in his resignation. Effective immediately. She’s instantly enraged with him. Timothée showed her his doctor’s notes on his fertility. It didn’t earn him any sympathy, but at least she let him off easier. Don was already in the break room and getting ready for the shift when Timothée broke the news. 

“The doctor’s findings include possible infertility.” It’s not them to beat around the bush. “I’m quitting today.” 

Don was shocked and planted where he stood. It hit him harder than any because despite his unhappy mated life he adored his kids to bits. It couldn’t have been easy for him to hear. 

“Well, fuck kid. Why do you get a seven-day free trial of chirpiness to arrive at this?” 

That was fucking depressing. Timothée and Don shared a laugh at it. 

Timothée knows he could’ve hung around and perhaps ordered drinks for himself, just some rite of passage kind of thing. When he went out of the break room after talking to Don, he found that he’s not all that thrilled to spend the night here. 

_I did it._ Timothée sends the message to Armie without thinking anything about it. 

_You’re not working a shift now?_

_No. I’m going to my flat._

_Then let’s talk tonight._

Timothée stands outside the bar, staring dumbly at his phone. Armie seems to have been past the point of trying anymore. As if between them he isn’t the one with a ring in his hand and a spouse waiting for him. 

As he walks back to his apartment, Timothée wonders what Armie did to hide their encounters. It’s fairly easy to cover a scent, but sex is hard. It’s hormonal and it flows even after. Especially when knotting is involved. Armie doesn’t wear blockers, which is the only way to get rid of it. It’s not even that of a big deal for alphas, because to be an alpha is a privilege. It’s an advantage in life, in work, in politics. The scales are just permanently tipped in their favor. 

It was a long way from the bar to his building. Wherever Armie came from must not have been very far when he’s already waiting outside his building. Timothée stares at him until it turns creepy to do so. Now that Armie can’t smell him, clocking him in a shared space doesn’t come naturally. 

“You have a place in mind?” Timothée feels the bile rising to his throat. 

Now he’s acting exactly like a hooker. When he said he’s a fast learner that isn’t what he meant. 

Armie takes a moment to blink at him and stare; disoriented by the lack of scent when the source is present right in front of him. “Your place is fine.” 

Timothée scoffs. “Well, good luck to us both.” He still leads them upstairs.

Most of the smell from the last time they were here has been gone, no thanks to Timothée’s incessant cleaning. Still, Armie couldn’t stop the sharp inhale he takes. He’s in Timothée’s space again, his senses reminded of what the scent blockers took away. 

“I’m going to be upfront with you.” Timothée sits them down on the kitchen table. “If you’re having a stupid freakout, warn a guy. You cut off one of my lifelines.” 

Armie nods resolutely. 

Timothée doesn’t think Armie understands what his demand meant. “My job at the bar, as little as the pay, was regular. Now, I’m at your mercy. If you so much as-”

“I know what I asked. I understand the consequences, despite what you think of me.” 

“I would expect you to compensate for that, in times that you will not bother with me for whatever reason.” 

There are so many things flitting across Armie’s expression and scent. First off, he’s insulted by every bit of insinuations from Timothée. He’s resigned, too. It’s his idea after all. But then, Timothée would rather have him condescending than apologetic. Yet here he is. 

“Of course I will cover your weekend shifts if I don’t contact you.” Armie picks every word carefully. “And I would let you know in advance if we’re meeting or not.” 

Timothée glares but he nods anyway. “So a fixed schedule is already out of the equation.” 

“Yes, but I’d like to know your work commitments.” Armie opens his phone and slides it across the table. 

It’s an app for organizing schedules. “You work in banking and finance.” 

“No questions about personal lives.” Armie reminds him, his tone blank and giving nothing away. 

“I didn’t ask.” Timothée retorts. He types in his consistent shifts in the cafe and Elisse’s Saturday lessons. He also notes that he accepts translation works as a freelancer. “And I’m not wrong.” 

When their eyes meet again after Timothée slides the phone back, Armie is subtly impressed. He still doesn’t confirm, but it can’t be far from the truth. 

“So Tuesday to Saturday, all nights free.” Armie only needs to spare a glance to his uncomplicated schedule. “How about this translation? How long does it take you?” 

“Weeks at a time, three at most. It’s very tedious.” Timothée taps his fingers on the table. “I can probably work faster now without the shift at the bar.” 

Armie considers this. “I’d contact you after work hours if we’re meeting. I want you to skip the scent blockers.” 

That means Timothée would only take blockers twice in a day. That works out. It means he’s saving. 

“Alright.” Timothée agrees. “I can contact you first, right? To ask if you’re showing up.” 

“Of course. I don’t expect you to be at my beck and call.” 

“But you should, right? It’s what you’re paying me for.” 

Armie dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “You can refuse if you’re not free.” 

Eight hundred dollars is already hard to turn down. The amount coming with the promise of sex with Armie is just impossible. 

“That’s good.” He’s thankful for the option. “Let’s talk about the sex.” 

Instinctively, Armie straightens in his seat. 

Timothée fights his smile. It’s unbelievable how Armie got flustered over it. “I’d let you knot me, occasionally.” 

Armie’s pupils dilated rapidly, his scent changing uncontrollably. This conversation is going to double as foreplay, it seems. 

“Never on a Friday night. I’m meeting with my student the next day.” It felt necessary to explain, especially with how intrigued Armie became from his specific request. 

Even he winces a bit at that then nods his agreement. “You got it. How about birth controls? Wait, hear me out-” Armie’s hand is suspended in the air between them, placating. “I’m not telling you to do anything else but take maintenance.”

“Were you not there? I’m barren.” 

“No, there’s a chance.” 

“Armie,” Timothée calls his attention forcefully. “This is a whole other conundrum to me that I haven’t fully processed yet so you’ll hear this just once. Male omegas generally find it hard to conceive. Some even look into fertility treatments to get pregnant fast. My physicals show that I’m not built to carry a child. I _looked_ at the figure Dr. Howard gave. I’m supposed to go to nursing school, so I’ve educated myself to a certain extent. With those findings, it’s pretty clear. It’s just...” 

It hurts to say everything out loud. His words left him because he also ran out of steam that started his tirade. It’s apparent that Armie can tell, even with the scent blockers getting in the way. 

“You can use a condom.” Timothée offers flatly. 

The suggestion made Armie wrinkle his nose. “Not very fond of it.” 

“Then this part of our discussion is over.” Before Armie could verbalize anything else, protest or otherwise, Timothée sidetracks him. “Will you try things on me? Kinks and fetish I should know about?” 

It’s entirely possible that Armie drew up this arrangement to explore the kinks that he cannot with his spouse. It’s not even unheard of for alphas to do it, but generally being a service omega is frowned upon. Even if it’s enjoyed and benefited from by a huge number of the population. People use anything to crucify omegas for existing. 

However, in their case, kink negotiation seemed to put Armie’s hormones on overdrive. It’s obvious that he’s going through everything he can think of in his mind, and it’s making his lust flare into the room. 

“Tell me what you’re down to do and we can go from there.” Armie is very calculated now. Every bit of his posture and speech is controlled in an attempt to carry out this conversation. 

Timothée swears to tip him over the edge. “I’d _want_ you to dominate me. Manhandle me, carry me around, push me against the wall, throw me on the bed. You can tie me and blindfold me, that’s fine. Spanking and whipping, I think I’m down to try. Nothing extreme, even candle wax. I don’t like that at all. You can even scene with me, or have me roleplay. Toys are good.” 

Armie is already breathing heavily. “Limits on toys?” 

“Show me and we’ll see.” Timothée answers. “Although, now that we’re here I doubt there are much I wouldn’t accept from you.” 

That seemed to have done it. Armie flies over to him and pulls him off the chair. Timothée only offered. Everything that would follow is Armie taking as he pleases. 

Still, he doesn’t stop talking. “You can tease me, edge me, play with me. I’d call you anything you want.” 

“You will be the death of me.” Armie breathes him in, desperate to smell but unable to. 

Timothée arches his back so they’re pressed flushed from hips to chest while he leans his head away. 

“Did you think of me?” He wants Armie to take the leap. 

“You’re all I thought about.” Armie plunges, slamming his lips on his and kissing him with all his might. 

That’s enough. Sins don’t sound half as bad when you have someone to do it with. 

Their clothes fall to the floor as they walk to the bed. It’s no longer as frantic as the last time they were here. Their heads are evidently clearer when Timothée’s scent is taken out of the equation. It leaves Armie with enough rationality that he takes the time to explore as he goes. It’s a marvel; the way Armie handles him in bed. In the many times that Timothée has imagined this, he hardly believed that Armie would be an attentive lover when it came down to that. He thought he’d take what he wants, since he’s not obliged or attached to Timothée as he is married and claimed. 

Instead, Armie is careful. He considers how Timothée reacts with his touch at every part of his body. He gauges if Timothée likes it or not. It makes him want to welcome Armie more into his body. 

“Have you been touching yourself?” It’s obvious from the way the sheets reek of it and it’s obvious in the way Timothée’s asshole doesn’t resist when Armie fingers him. 

He moans, whimpers and hums. Armie is exploring his insides and curling his fingers just by the spot that sends shock up to Timothée’s spine and makes him shudder. 

“You’re all I thought about.” Timothée parrots back, smirking when Armie growls and pumps his hand repeatedly.

The stimulation gives Armie the response he’s looking for. Timothée screams and rises off the mattress, feeling his insides stir before a gush of slick expels from his hole and on Armie’s hand. His orgasm is fast approaching, and Armie grips the base of his dick and squeezes. 

“Fuck!” Timothée shouts, sitting up and flailing to remove the pressure on the base of his dick. “Armie, I’m gonna come, please, plea-”

Armie shushes him, his hand rubbing the walls inside his ass while the other retains the grip on his cock. “You’ll come when I’m inside you. Do you think you can take me now?” 

Timothée nods his head desperately. “Yes! Yes, I’m ready. Please, please, let go-”

It appears as though it’s really not within Armie to refuse Timothée’s cries. He removes his fingers and replaces it with the tip of his cock, breaching slowly. 

The squeeze on the base of Timothée’s cock still doesn’t give, making him whine high and low in his throat. The sensations are too much; the combined stretch in his ass and the compression on his dick causing him to wail out and thrash on the bed. 

Once Armie was confident that Timothée had released enough lubrication to ease the way, he withdrew his hips until only the very tip was inside, before slamming back in and releasing his grip at the same time. Timothée came so hard that he convulsed and blacked out momentarily. 

“That’s gorgeous.” Armie coos as he thrusts in Timothée, never pausing despite him already seeing stars behind his eyelids. “You are so goddamn perfect. You’re made for _me._ ” 

Whether it’s a kink or his own personal sentiment, Timothée’s body finds a way to bring him back to the scene. He opens his eyes to Armie trapping him between his arms planted on each side of Timothée’s head. Even the extent to which Armie bent him in half didn’t bother his body anymore. His legs are on Armie’s shoulders, his knees dangerously close to his own chin. 

The pounding continues in the same punishing pace that they both obviously prefer. Now that Timothée’s body has learned to accommodate the sheer size of Armie’s cock inside, it’s no longer a problem for them to go at it as feral as they want. Timothée loved it, every slam on Armie’s hips that drives his dick so deep that he feels it in his throat, the sound of their skin slapping filling the room, Armie’s intoxicated scent telling Timothée he’s doing so good. 

Timothée experimentally clenches around Armie just as his dick is all the way in, then relaxes again as he moves to pull out to repeat the thrust. When he felt it, Armie’s hands trembled and he howled, his head falling on Timothée’s neck. He moves his legs out of the way and settles them to lock on Armie’s lower back instead. Cradling him on his chest, Timothée moves his hips to urge him to get going again. 

“Come on, alpha. That can’t be all you’ve got.” 

Armie growls and rises to the bait. He grips Timothée’s chin and kisses him as he returns to pounding in him so harshly that Timothée comes off the bed slightly. Now equipped with a new leverage, Timothée repeats the clenching and unclenching that drove Armie to fall on his chest, and soon after receives the spurt of his come as he explodes inside him. 

They didn’t knot, so they came down easier from this round. Armie helplessly crumbles on the space beside Timothée after his orgasm shattered through his being. They lay there, panting as their head swims with the remnants of the high that they reach from having sex with each other, forbidden as it is. It’s so charged and crazed that Timothée is positive that they turn to a different, more primal version of themselves whenever they indulge in each other’s body. 

Before either of them could spiral into the pit of self-loathing, their drowsiness takes over, lulling them to sleep. 

Timothée awakes to the feeling of the alpha nosing along his neck. It must be around midnight. The scent blockers have faded, and that alone drove Armie back inside him again. 

They fucked and slept and then cleaned up. Armie helped him change the sheets and took a shower together. It didn’t do much, and Armie fucked him on all fours on the bathroom floor that their knees bruised by the end of it. 

Armie stayed until lunch time, Monday. They barely stopped with the ardent fucking that half of the day wasted away like that. 

The human psyche is built to adjust. This is why difficulty can be overcome with enough training while new, shiny things fail to hold our interest for long. Timothée is confident that before he knows it, he’ll stop feeling guilty of taking pleasure from inviting Armie between his legs and keeping him there. 

One thousand and six hundred dollars. Two meetings worth of fees, transferred shortly after Armie left the building. 

Until then, Timothée will fight the urge to throw up the meager contents of his stomach. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, also, have no fucking clue how I can write so much in 24 to 36 hour interval. Do let me know what you think. Thank you x


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time flies in this fic, just like when you’re having fun lmao. I can’t believe I’m dealing with stress by making these two suffer in a fan fiction.

How Armie cleans up after himself is his problem. That’s the general rule, and everything that follows that is crystal clear. Nothing has been given away regarding his personal life. Even though Timothée guessed that he’s in banking and finance, Armie acted as though if he never admitted to it then it would be just as good as proving Timothée wrong. It doesn’t matter all that much. 

Still, he remains attentive. The spouse is a woman. Timothée caught the pronoun along the week after they finalized their arrangement. It could’ve been a slip of tongue, but Timothée was endlessly curious. It was Thursday evening when he tried to get Armie to confirm. They’re smoking in the kitchen together after rounds of steamy, filthy sex all around the flat. 

“I thought you don’t smoke.” Armie remarked when Timothée sneaked up on him and took a drag of his cigarette as he was bringing it to his mouth. 

Timothée snatched the stick away and blowed out to the air, careless. “It was an extra expense that I wasn’t willing to make.” 

“So you’d steal mine?” Armie was looking at him with amusement. 

“It’s better coming from your mouth.” 

They grinned at each other and Armie took him by the chin to kiss. He was always quick to give in between the two of them. Timothée liked that about him, and hummed in Armie’s mouth to let him know just how much. 

“I think you’re right.” Armie whispered into the inch of space between after they broke the kiss. 

Huffing, Timothée dislodged and returned to the cigarette in his hand. “Do you usually smoke this much?” 

Armie shook his head. “Does it bother you?”

“Not if you’re sharing, no.” Timothée teased. 

Armie scoffed. 

“And your wife?” 

Armie didn’t even flinch. “She’d never know.” 

Everyday since Timothée first received the cash transfer for being Armie’s service omega, he has strictly avoided mirrors. It was a weak attempt to escape his own judgment. The second they part, his stomach would start lurching. He would stand where Armie left him and he would hate living in his own skin. No amount of cleaning and scrubbing could wash away the guilt and loathing he feels for setting himself up as the intruder in someone’s marriage and taking money from it. 

Perhaps Armie put up the firm rule in an attempt to not let Timothée stray into this line of thinking. If so then it is of no use. Timothée would lay awake or glance cautiously all around his flat, recalling every single time that they’ve gone at it on the surfaces available. The lingering smell of their sex just burn in his nostrils, but Timothée would never run. It became his self-inflicted punishment for engaging in such a relationship. 

Armie is good at upholding his end. They met up Wednesday and Thursday night, both with prior notice as early as lunch time. Both times, Armie decided on Timothée’s flat, simply because it was a convenient studio apartment. The consecutive meetings left him sore and beaten. It was the most sated he’d ever felt. Armie had left by midnight, and Timothée’s shift at the cafe would come too early for him to have time to dwell on his self-hatred. 

Pauline calls him Friday night with news of her getting accepted into the insurance firm in Paris. She was given a week before she could move, and she’s already checked three places looking for roommates. 

_“I’d love the one in the district. Technically, I can afford the monthly dues with the salary I’d get. It’s the initial down that I’m short in.”_ Pauline says through the line. 

Timothée is drinking tea with hot compress on his lower back, sore from the previous nights of continuous sex. _“How much?”_

_“Ah, don’t worry your pretty little head on that. I’m sure I could return to it some time later.”_ Pauline answers with a chuckle. 

_“Come on, tell me. Is everything okay?”_

_“Yeah, I’m just accounting for the future. I’d like to get grandma hooked with a caretaker. Maman wants to tend to the gardens. She’s been growing flowers these days. That really cheered her up.”_

Timothée’s heart swells at the news. Once Pauline moves away, Nicole would be left to take care of their grandmother, which can be a quite depressing affair, since all they want to talk about is Marc. There’s nothing much that connects the two in-laws apart from their late father anyway, so it can be expected. 

To send them the tainted money he earned from Armie would be a burden he’d stake his heart with for the rest of his life. If he can do anything to help them get by, he would. Timothée can only hope that the distance would erase the stain on the support he’d give, but he’s old enough to know that it doesn’t work that way. 

_“I’ll send money. You still use the same account, right?”_ Timothée has a black void in his chest that is fast spreading as he prepares to pass on the cash. 

Pauline is already protesting. _“Timothée! No! You keep that, okay? You earned it. You’re working hard.”_

The void in his chest felt like it took a blow. Timothée winced at the pain that he can only nurse as it expands. 

_“Freelancing went pretty good. Tips, too. Just let me do this, okay? I’m hanging up so I can transfer.”_

Before either of them could talk him out of it, Timothée ends the call and sends five thousand dollars to Pauline. That’s nearly everything he got from Armie so far, but the money came so fast and so easily that it didn’t feel so hard to let go. The only weight on it is the fact that Timothée earned it by selling himself as a commodity. 

Pauline calls him back instantly. _“Timothée! That’s too much! Why would you-”_

_“Pauline.”_ Timothée sternly cuts her off. _“I’m living on my own. I would earn enough to cover my next dues. Take it. Please, for my peace of mind. I haven’t seen you in ages.”_

Timothée hates himself even more. He hates how he dragged them into his mess unknowingly. He hates how he’s left with no other means of helping but through this. 

The line was silent for a few seconds, until Pauline sniffles and breaks down into loud sobs. _“Oh Timmy,”_ she says, and it’s packed with so much relief and gratefulness that Timothée feels warm despite the blackness in his chest. _“That covered for so much, you have no idea. I promise I’d pay you back when-”_

_“Don’t you dare!”_ Timothée warns, but he can’t help the smile on his face. _“I’ve been earning well these days. Of course I want to help. We’re family. You’re all I’ve got.”_

When Pauline sobs more into the line, so pleasantly surprised and boundlessly thankful for it, Timothée makes the decision to keep this up, even if it burns him inside out. 

Sundays are fast shaping into Armie’s most regular night. Timothée received a text by brunch, asking if he was free, then gave a hotel room in a posh hotel on the better side of Brooklyn. 

_Don’t touch yourself. Don’t come until I get to you._ Those were the instructions that followed after Armie told him to enter as it is unlocked. 

The coldest shower setting did nothing about how supremely turned on Timothée felt. Still, he did his best to comply, slipping into his clothes and rushing to the address before the scent blockers he took that morning could wear off. 

No matter how aware Timothée is of what they’re doing, it never resulted in him driving Armie away completely. His own greed will be his downfall. It’s clear when he accepts this out of his own desire for the man and it’s clearer now that he wants more of it to pull his family from the bump that they never appear to get past from. 

The last time Timothée had been in a hotel this nice, he was twelve. His father got a vacation in the Alps from the company he worked in and brought the entire family to spend one week of spring in the mountain range. It was one of his happiest memories to date. 

_How do you want me?_ Timothée sends the text to Armie before his thoughts spiral out of control. 

_I ordered lunch, room service. I want you to eat up. You’d need it._

Armie has that effect on him. Suddenly, nothing else matters but to comply with his orders. Timothée is shamelessly at Armie’s feet and enjoys it. The thrum under his skin is enough to distract him from all the worries that plagued him. Timothée waits for the lunch to come and eats it when it arrives, a good platter of salmon and salad and a tall glass of fresh juice. 

There’s enough in the room to entertain him with, but he chose to poke his nose around and try to catch Armie’s scent. Sure enough, there’s some of it on the sheets, just a spot on the pillow, a lot in the bathroom. He probably used it to relieve himself. Timothée feels like he’s set on a scavenger hunt, and he opens every drawer and cabinet to see what’s in store. After all, his instructions were to not touch himself. He supposes he’s free to roam around. 

True enough, Armie tucked a box under the bed. It smells of him and his car fragrance. The curiosity gnaws at him, but he keeps still. Instead, he sits down on the edge of the bed and puts it on his lap. 

Timothée was on his phone by the time Armie arrived. Their eyes met before Armie saw that he already had it on top of his legs. 

“What’s in the box?” Timothée quips, lifting it in the air and shaking it slightly. 

Armie walks in and sheds his suit jacket and tie. “You didn’t peek?” 

Timothée shakes his head. 

“Very good.” Armie has long learned that Timothée enjoys getting praised even if he doesn’t know what to do with them. “You finished lunch?” 

A nod. Armie smiles at him, pleased. 

“Very good.” He repeats, rolling his sleeves to his elbows as he walks over to the bed to sit beside Timothée. “Did you touch yourself?” 

Timothée is already breathing hard. He shakes his head, his legs parting automatically as Armie slips a hand on his thigh. 

“I’ll play with you today.” Another hand is on the curls of his hair, playing with it. “Use your words. Is that okay?” 

“Okay.” The response sounds more like a gasp. 

Armie nosed the side of his face. “Colors?” 

Timothée would combust and disintegrate in anticipation if Armie keeps this up. “Yes. Green.” 

Taking the box from his hands, Armie pries the lid off and takes out a dildo and a blindfold. “Undress.” 

Timothée is on his feet so fast; starting with his shirt, then his pants, his socks and boxers, until he stands bared completely in front of Armie. The way his scent still rises with excitement thrills Timothée to his core. He motions for him to step closer, then ties the blindfold on the back of his head. The cloth is thick enough to block his vision but soft enough that it doesn’t chaff his skin. 

“You’re dripping already.” Armie says, leading him on the bed on all fours. 

With his sight cut off, Timothée feels the rest of his senses heighten. He hears Armie move behind him as the bed dips beneath his weight. Without warning, Armie licks inside his thigh where his slick trickles down, following it up to the source. Parting his ass, Armie laps on the steady stream from his hole, rimming him like it’s a thirst he has to quench. Timothée’s limbs want to give out already, and the only added sensation aside from Armie plunging his tongue inside is his thumb tracing the pucker of his hole. 

It’s easy to lose awareness of time when there’s no environment to see that will provide context. It couldn’t have been longer than ten minutes, yet Timothée feels as though Armie has been rimming him for the better part of the hour. The movements of his tongue as in bends and licks inside him, scraping on the walls and catching his slick, are all reducing Timothée in a helpless heap of whimpers. He clutches the sheets in his hands while he’s unsure of whether he wants to shove Armie’s face deeper between his ass or pull away completely. 

Before he could decide on it, Armie pushes two fingers along with his tongue and pumps them in a fixed, steady rhythm. Timothée gasps out, arching as he feels every jab going straight against his prostate and jolting him. The more it goes on, the harder it is to stay upright. Armie doesn’t bother with it though. His fingers scissor inside and his tongue licks on the spot just where his fingers parted. It’s making his eyes roll to the back of his head, and then Armie adds another finger and withdraws his tongue. The relief from the momentary break doesn’t last when Armie all but fucks him with three fingers, hitting his prostate every single time. 

Timothée shouts and keens. “Fuck! Armie, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna-”

When Armie curls his fingers, he realizes that that’s the point. Armie is driving him to his release with brutal shoves of his hand to take the edge off. With that, Timothée allows the build up in his groin, letting it rise until his orgasm rips out of him. Mercilessly, Armie still hits his prostate directly using his fingers. Timothée hasn’t finished coming when the vibrator sounds to life, and Armie presses it against his cock as it spurts between his legs. 

“Fuck!” Timothée couldn’t hold himself up anymore. He falls on the bed and curls into a ball, trying to escape the jabs from Armie’s fingers and the vibration from the toy. 

Still, Armie doesn’t let him off, following him down and pressing just as he had when Timothée came. He’s thrashing and kicking on the mattress, on the verge of tears but so magnificently turned on when the overstimulation is hurting just as badly. He’s screaming; he could hear himself, but his scent alone tells Armie that he’s getting drunk on pleasure. 

“That’s one.” Armie doesn’t even pause. Timothée realizes he means the number of his orgasm. “Color?” 

He can barely croak out with the continued onslaught of the vibrations and Armie’s fingers in his ass. “Green.” 

Then it began again. This time, Armie flips him on his back so he can lie down on the bed. The vibrator is taken away from his dick and the fingers slip out of him. Timothée was allowed a moment to catch his breath before Armie takes his softening cock into his mouth, suckling on it eagerly. There couldn’t have been any chance for him to manage an erection so fast, yet as Armie sucks and hums, his dick begins to fill back up again. The rush of it makes Timothée’s head swim, like his he’s hung upside down and his blood is rushing the other way. 

When he’s fully hard, the vibrator turns on, a little louder than when Timothée first heard it, then it’s pressed on his perineum. It doesn’t need to go in to make Timothée yelp and scream again. Armie pushes him back down on the bed with a hand on his stomach, and wants to cry but complies anyway. As Armie takes him all the way to the back of his throat, the vibrator enters him and settles in just as deep. This time, Timothée is certain he has tears in his eyes. 

Armie comes off only to go down again, bobbing his head effectively as the vibrator continuously thrums inside his ass. Idly, Timothée can hear himself talking, begging, crying out, but none of it registers in him. He probably doesn’t mean most of it either. It all proves to be empty when his second orgasm hits him, the interval from the last one reasonable but the refractory period was insane. Armie swallows around his cock buried all the way to the base. 

“I’m going to knot you and fuck you with it.” 

At this point, Timothée would accept anything. 

Finally, Armie positions himself on the bed so they’re spooning, then thrusts his dick inside Timothée’s gaping hole. He feels a gush of slick erupt from his insides. 

It made Armie chuckle. “Yeah, just like that. Squirt on it, make it easier.” 

Timothée lies boneless on his side, taking every snap of Armie’s hips as he drives his cock inside him, right to the hilt at every movement. He’s near to passing out, exhausted and tipped so hard over the edge that he can’t classify between his pain and pleasure. Slowly, Armie’s hand wraps around his neck, using it as his grip to steady his limp body. The intent becomes clear when Armie takes his spent cock in his other hand where the vibrator is still buzzing, trapping them together in his hold. 

The scream rips out of him so hard that his voice breaks. He knows he’s pleading and sobbing, and Armie would spare him a moment of pause to make up his mind. A whimper would be enough to let Armie know that stopping isn’t what Timothée wants, but he can’t continue either, it’s too much. 

Armie readjusts them so Timothée is on his back, but never once letting go of where his hands are. The pounding continues, just as rapid and brutal. The continued stimulation makes his body scramble to respond, his cock twitching after every gush of slick from his ass. 

The vibrations against the length of his dick is forcing it to come back to life. Timothée is kicking his legs out, squirming away, but Armie tightens his hand on his neck and he freezes. When he stops, the grip loosens, and yet it starts all over again. 

The next erection is already painful, so forced within such close intervals that it can’t be anything else but a result of his body’s defense mechanism. Relentless, Armie is still pounding into him, his knot fully swollen and ready to pop. 

Just as always, Timothée’s body willingly accepts all that it gets from Armie. Despite the borderline discomfort of the vibrations against his dick, his hole still gives and stretches, lubricating profusely to accommodate the thick base where the knot is. Armie’s orgasm is fast approaching, and he’s evidently trying to bring Timothée along with him. 

The slow drags along the shaft of his cock accompanied by the building pressure from the grip on his neck did it. It was a dry orgasm, his dick spasming with barely any come escaping it. His neck is released when he comes, but all this happened at the same time that his rim is breached by Armie’s knot and locked around it, the alpha's orgasm erupting inside him in waves. 

Armie is caressing his face and kissing around it. “Color?” 

The blindfold comes off. Timothée wants to cry and he turns his face away. Just as the grip on his neck and the thrum against his dick left, Armie still wants _more._

“Be honest.” 

God, how badly it’s bringing Timothée’s spirits down when he can’t follow Armie in the freefall. “Green.” 

Tentatively, Armie rolls his hips to move his dick, testing him. There’s very little drag when they’re knotted, but the swollen base still moves inside him while he feels the continuous release of come. Timothée shudders, arching to meet Armie in the middle even when he’s limp all over. 

“Are you still letting me fuck you like this?” There’s disbelief in Armie’s voice as he’s so exhilarated by what he’s seeing. “You’re fucking perfect.” 

Timothée whines, too messed up for words, but Armie would understand. Before the knot deflates, he passes out. 

When he regains consciousness, he’s in a bathtub filled with warm water and suds. Armie is propping him up against the wall, already in a bathrobe. 

“How do you feel?” He asks. 

Timothée closes his eyes again, enjoying the gentle lull of the water. “Floaty.” He dozes off again, uncaring. 

The water is being drained when he wakes again. This time, he has recharged enough to get on his feet. Armie still hovers around him but lets him take care of himself if there seems to be no trouble. Timothée appreciates that. 

“How long has it been?” Timothée falls on the bed face first. 

The bed dips where Armie sits. “It’s nearly six.” 

“Did we go at it that long or was I just out that long?” 

“Both.” 

Timothée huffs into the pillow. “How are you on your feet, you fucking animal.” 

“I workout.” Armie lights a cigarette and takes a long drag. 

“If you make me go to the gym I’ll ghost you.” Timothée complains as he turns to lie on his back. “Gimme,” 

Armie scowls at him for stealing but hands the stick over anyway. “What’s a hard limit, from what we’ve done?” 

Well that’s a loaded fucking question. The hard limit, in truth, starts with the fact that Armie is married and shouldn’t be here in the first place. 

“Marital status aside. Get that look off your face.” 

Timothée snorts. “Nothing. I would’ve stopped you.” 

Armie is thoroughly unconvinced. “You passed out on me.” 

“Well yeah. Can you cut me some slack?” Timothée feels strangely defensive even if it’s just an observation. “It’s been two years since I last had sex, and none of them had been an alpha.” 

“That’s not the point-”

“Who still cares about what the fucking point is?” 

The room fills with Armie’s agitation. “Why must you make this so hard? I’m trying to check if I went overboard.”

“And I told you, you didn't.” Timothée puts out the used up cigarette in the glass of water. Sitting up, he grabs the box on the foot of the bed and lights another. “That’s pretty tame, no?” 

Armie resents to admit it, but he nods. 

“So you just don’t trust my tolerance.” 

“I literally never said that.” 

They glared at each other. Armie snatched the cigarette from his hand and put it to his mouth. One moment, Armie is attentively taking care of him, the next they’re clawing at each other’s throats. 

Groaning, Timothée slams his back on the mattress. “If you’re on your way to freakout, now’s a good time to give me a heads up.” 

Armie turns to look at him, irked. “Don’t fault me for my concern over your lack of self-preservation.” 

“There you go!” Timothée snaps back with an accusing jab of his hand. “I think I can tell pretty well if I’m at my limit.” 

“You seemed like you were going because I _wanted_ to!”

“And what the fuck is the problem with that?!” 

Timothée is sitting before he registers getting up. He’s suddenly so mad at Armie for hashing this useless discussion when he’s in fact having the best sex of his miserable, god forsaken life. 

Shaking his head, Armie rises on his feet and points accusingly at him. “You don’t get to do that. Why the hell would you disregard your wellbeing-”

“Oh my fucking _God,_ Armie!” Timothée gets off the bed too. “You paid for sex and this is how you act when you get it? Are you new here?” 

Somehow, Armie gets angrier over that. “Why am I the one negotiating for your sake?!” 

“Exactly! Fuck me like you mean it!” 

Armie throws the cigarette right into the glass where Timothée put out the previous one. In a flash, he takes him by the throat and shoves him face first on the bed, forcing him to present. They went into the night with the angriest sex; clawing and biting and pushing at each other, yet still coming together to pounce and just _take._

It was ten in the evening when they woke up from the furious round they had. Dinner was another room service, which is ridiculous. Timothée rode Armie gently as if to make up for his absurdity. Armie kisses him like he’s forgiven. 

The morning is greeted by another round of sex, lazy and slow as dawn breaks over the horizon. Armie drives Timothée to his apartment. Reluctant to part, Timothée leads him upstairs. While Armie’s clothes were in the washer, they fucked frantically on the couch. 

Armie transferred another two thousand in his account after they parted. Timothée would’ve asked why. It’s still over the fees for two meetings. Even more to compensate for his weekend shift. He doesn’t though. Instead, he thinks of Pauline, how she’s moving back to Paris for the insurance job. Timothée knows she could’ve worked anywhere else, but it was apparent that she’s trying her luck if she can return to business school. After all, she’s a very promising alpha; intelligent, confident and charismatic. She’s right to pursue even just the slightest chance of it. 

Timothée thinks of how easily the two thousand dollars came. He thinks of the future meetings. If they can keep this up, then he can send more and make things easier for Pauline. He could pay for the caretaker that she’ll hire for their grandmother. Maybe he could even send a few gifts to their mother. He thinks about it, and knows for sure he doesn’t give a damn to what Armie is ruining on his side of the spectrum. If it came down to it, Timothée would blow up the ground he stood on for his family. 

The weeks rolled away like that and proved him right. It didn’t even take more than a month into this arrangement before Timothée got used to it. 

In the second week, he found himself considering Armie when making plans. He finally agreed to hangout with Saoirse on a Saturday night. Armie was in his apartment every night from Tuesday to Thursday before it. The frequency had shaken him, slightly paranoid that Saoirse would catch the smell, but the night went without her noticing. The next day, Armie was in his apartment again, and they spent the entire Sunday fucking unless they want to sleep or eat. 

Four thousand dollars just for that week. 

Armie didn’t contact him for the entire weekday following it, but sent him a text Friday afternoon asking if he’s free from there until Monday, morning probably. When Timothée felt his heart skip a beat just as his stomach dropped, he knew he’d drag himself to the dirt and shame of it everyday of his life just to keep it going. It was in another hotel, a sketchier side of the city; more hidden away but still nice to Timothée’s standards. The entire weekend flew past them in constant fucking and knotting then fucking all over again. Armie extended their stay until Monday lunch time. 

It’s supposed to be three thousand two hundred dollars. Armie transferred three thousand five hundred. 

Timothée got the appeal then. He’s had more money in his account in just the three weeks of having sex with Armie than he’s ever had before in his life. No wonder it stopped to matter so fast. He doesn’t send money to Pauline yet, waiting for the month to turn or else she would suspect. They talk regularly with lighter moods. For the first time in years, Timothée got the feeling that his family is slowly pushing past the bump of the road. 

The first month was marked by another weekend appointment, from Friday night to Monday noon, this time in Timothée’s apartment. Armie brought ropes and toys. 

“Hands behind your back. Use your hips.” Armie was supporting his weight by leaning on his hands backwards, Timothée on his lap and seated on his knot, milking it. 

Gagged with a cock ring trapping his orgasm, Timothée helplessly bounced himself on Armie’s dick, as much as the knot would allow him to move while his legs were folded and his hands gripping on his ankles behind him. He had tear tracks on his face, edged for the better part since late morning that they woke up. Another load of come spurted inside him, the spasm of Armie’s dick following the swell of the shaft. Timothée cried out, his cock still constrained and flushed with it. 

“Green?” 

Fuck yes. 

“Good boy.” 

That always seemed to do it. Timothée would take a deep breath, then let Armie do as he pleased. 

The only breaks they got were for food and clean up, but even that turned into sex. Timothée had licked and eaten food off of Armie’s skin until he snapped and bent him over the dining table. The shower could be running as they washed off the come and slick and sweat but Armie had Timothée kneeling between his legs, blowing him until he came down his throat. It was a relentless, feral rounds of sex that reduced them to base instincts and desire. 

Timothée lost track of the days pretty early on that weekend. At some point, Armie had tied his limbs on each corner of the bed, spreading him wide and bound completely. 

“Give me a color.” 

“Green.” 

“Good boy.” 

Those words would drive Timothée to his doom, but best believe he’d be the one to make the leap for it. For hours, Armie kept a vibrator buried in his ass, bringing him on edge then turning off completely just as his orgasm threatened to erupt. Armie kissed all over his body, pumping the length of his cock as he went, then withdrawing until his release subsided with a grip locked on the base of his cock. He’d cried and screamed, already floating and drenched in cold sweat when Armie finally sinked into his body, fucking him until he came with no other stimulation but the slam of his dick all the way up to his guts. 

That weekend alone felt as though it dragged on forever. Time had completely disappeared while they had been locked in the flat, never once bothering with clothes let alone going out to the world. Armie had put a plug inside him and kept it there. They could be standing in the kitchen or lounging by the couch when Timothée would be tugged by the arm or his hair, the plug pulled out of him as Armie’s dick took its place. 

Monday morning and they still haven’t slowed down. Armie fucked him on all fours on the bed. He knotted Timothée in the bathroom. Fucked his mouth under the kitchen table. When it was time to part, Timothée had slid down the floor, unable to keep himself upright after Armie fucked him suspended in the air then pressed against the wall and came deep inside him right beside the door. 

Timothée was panting, but he waved Armie out of his apartment. “Go, go. I’ll manage from here.” 

With a nod, Armie zipped his trousers back up and straightened his clothes. 

It was another three thousand and five hundred dollars transferred into his account. 

Timothée called Pauline late that night. He has cleaned his apartment and washed his clothes and sheets. He took a shower and slept the rest of the day away. Armie had worked him over so hard. 

_“You moved already, right?”_ Timothée asks, bundled in his bed cozily. 

Pauline hummed cheerfully through the line. _“Yup! Oh, Timmy, you wouldn’t believe how good this place I got is!”_

She proceeded to enumerate each spot that thrilled her. The flat is situated at the perfect spot between her workplace and the heart of the city. They don’t talk about it, but she’s clearly headed towards returning to school if things continued to look as bright. Timothée thought of the money in his account. He can’t offer outright, because it’s not a steady income stream, but he can give while it’s there. 

_“You should go with your roommates. You’d live together for long. It’ll be good for you.”_ Timothée encouraged. _“Events kept coming. Seasonal thing. I’d cover for you.”_

It was met with lesser resistance this time, mostly because the explanation made sense. Timothée gave her three thousand dollars. He would’ve given more but it’s suspicious. The next time they talked, Pauline couldn’t be happier. She used a portion of the money to build a shed and buy tools for gardening since their mother picked up the hobby. Their grandmother even got to choose a nice caretaker that she got on with pretty well. Pauline sent him pictures of their crocheted works. It was the best their family had been in a while. 

The burden could be his alone. It doesn’t even matter anymore. His family is finally healing. Timothée doesn’t care one bit that it comes at his expense. 

Armie became inconsistent the following weeks, Timothée noticed. Their meetings were either short fucks in his apartment or Armie would send a hotel room and they’d spend a couple of hours. Reasonably, Timothée doesn’t think much of it. It could be a hectic month at work. Problem with the wife, too. It’s a long time coming, especially with the rate that they’ve gone at it the first month. 

Now, Timothée greatly appreciates that Armie forbids him to ask about his personal life. The intended effect is setting into his skin. Whoever she is, she’s as good as a vague figure. It helps that Armie never wore his ring when they met. She only exists in Timothée’s awareness. That doesn’t make her feel like a real person. 

“Aw, no kiss goodbye?” Timothée egged on Armie as he put his clothes back on after they fucked in a hotel room. 

It hadn’t even been six hours and he’s already leaving. Far cry from when they would do it until midnight that the walk of shame didn’t even feel like one. 

Armie turned towards him with a snort. He took the box of cigarettes from his pocket and tossed it on the bed. 

Eyeing the packet, Timothée amusedly quipped “Killing me softly? Kinky.” 

Bending in half, Armie laughed on his way out of the door. 

Sometimes, Timothée wonders if Armie has kids. He gave no details about just as much as he gave no details in his life. The most Timothée knows is that he’s married to a woman and worked in banking and finance, and they both arrived on the middle ground where they’re happy to keep it that way. It’s one of the few things they agree upon outside sex. 

Timothée was face down on his bed again, Armie’s hand on the back of his head to keep him there as he slammed his hips against his ass in the air. An orgasm already ripped through him before Armie pushed his dick in, and another was building in his groin the more the fucking continued. 

With a growl, Armie burst inside, filling him with come and sending him to another bout of release. A quick clean up followed that and Armie was dressing himself. 

Turning his head as he lay boneless on the bed, Timothée said “Next time, you can just leave. I can clean up after.” 

Armie’s scent flared with dread. He avoided Timothée’s eyes when he hummed in agreement then left the building. 

The next time Armie met up with him, he did just that. They fucked for the better half of the day and well into the night until Armie announced he had to go. 

“You can sleep some more. Checkout is tomorrow at noon.”

Timothée lay there; spent and covered in all sorts of bodily fluids from the consecutive rounds of sex. He allowed sleep to take over so he won’t think about it. 

What Timothée had skipped to consider was maybe Armie no longer thought of him as the shiny new toy. If he has long gotten over the guilt and self-loathing, then Armie could’ve lost interest in him just the same. It stung, but he felt more panicked. So far in the second month, he earned over five thousand dollars. It’s relatively lesser than the last but still better than what he could’ve done on his own. Now that he’s seeing how the money he gets could help his family, he’s feeling greedy about it. 

Idly, he wondered if he needed to spice things up. Armie does have a naturally dominant side. Timothée swears he can do better. He thinks of the kinks they’ve yet to talk about and begins to list the ones he’s down for. He can bring them up the next time. 

A month ago or so, Timothée would’ve been wallowing in his flat that seemed to permanently reek of his desire for a claimed, married man and the stench that lingered after they fuck. Now, Timothée stopped to bother with wiping and cleaning everywhere. Hell, he’s curled on his couch that still smelled of Armie, looking at scenes they could do in bed so Timothée can keep the where he wants him. 

Clearly, he’d gone way past the point of getting used to it. 

It’s such a blessing that his coworkers are betas. Paige and Josh never could tell if he’d been holed up most nights getting fucked out of his mind. Perhaps Timothée has taken after Armie in that sense. He cleans up good every time he would step out to face the world, whether it was after a meeting with Armie or not. Besides, the blockers are immaculate. Even if anyone who goes in the cafe could smell an alpha on him, it’s easy to chalk it up to the workplace having people come and go constantly. 

“Do you think he’s cute?” Paige nudges him towards the direction of a new face. 

Timothée glances subtly at the table by the window. It’s a blonde, lanky alpha eating a slice of salted caramel cake with plain black coffee on the side. 

“Sure.” Timothée shrugs. 

The alpha _is_ good looking. Reminds him a tad bit too much of another tall, blonde alpha he knows, but give the credit where it’s due. The alpha is fairly handsome. 

Paige scowls at him. “What? That’s it? You’re impossible to please.” 

Timothée snorts at her and greets the two women who enter, taking their orders and not sparing another thought to the man Paige is interested in. Honestly, she can have anyone she likes. Timothée is bound on an exclusive service deal anyway. 

It took the afternoon tea with Elisse for Timothée to notice that Armie didn’t get in touch for the entire weekday. That was a first. Usually, he would visit Timothée even if it’s just a quick fuck and tuck. Whatever he’s going through in life, he better compensate Timothée’s pay in the bartending job he left. 

Before he could feed himself more resentment, Armie sent him an address of a hotel, along with eight hundred dollars to cover the shifts he’s supposed to work. It was already Monday morning. Timothée wonders why Armie has it free, but he arrived in the hotel room to the alpha waiting for him, telling him that they’re fucking until midnight. 

When Armie knotted him on their third round that day, Timothée braced his legs so he could flip them over. He straddled Armie’s knot and milked it until Armie was reduced to a quivering, babbling mess beneath him. It was a punishment to him and vengeance for Timothée. He missed it so much and Armie just had to decide to make himself scarce. It enraged him. 

Timothée has an early shift but Armie is only driving him back past midnight. He thought of his options. 

“I’m guessing you’re not coming up.” Timothée barely glanced at Armie when he shook his head. 

Frankly, it didn’t matter. Timothée stretched a band and tied his hair in a half updo. Armie’s scent flared instantly, and Timothée didn’t give him a chance to think the better of it when he dove under the steering wheel and took Armie’s dick out, blowing him while they’re parked right outside his building. 

Timothée only came off when Armie emptied his release in his mouth. He swallowed dutifully and removed the tie on his hair. 

“I’ll see you around then.” 

Obviously, Timothée is being irrational. Armie has a high paying job that couldn’t have been easy. It’s perfectly normal that some weeks are busier than others. It’s still hard to shake off the shadows of dread when it’s already cast. Timothée is even willing to bargain. He’ll keep this up only until Pauline gets on her feet. No more. 

God, he can’t afford to lose this now. 

The blonde alpha in the cafe became a regular. Timothée sometimes sees him chatting with Paige. He’s polite and smiles at everyone. Timothée found out that his name was Justin when he was the one behind the register to serve him. It was the same black coffee every time and always with a pastry. 

“So what do you do?” Justin asked as he waited for his order by the bar. 

Timothée was amused by the attempt. The alpha doesn’t even need to suck up to him with the way that Paige only ever talked about him during their shifts. 

He still answered. “This is my full time job.” 

“Oh?” Justin was surprised and even more interested now. “What was your program?” 

Well that’s going to be awkward. “I didn’t go to college.” 

Timothée slid his tray across the bar and smiled. Embarrassed, Justin flushed and shuffled away to his table. At least he tried. He gets a participation ribbon for that. 

The following week, Armie showed up once on Thursday night. Timothée told him to come up as he left the door unlocked. When Armie entered, it was to the sight of Timothée fucking himself on a dildo that they used, moaning the alpha’s name and begging to be taken. Armie shed his clothes so fast, spanking Timothée on the ass as he pounded. 

No matter how hard Timothée tipped Armie over the edge, he never bad-mouthed him. Not even as a dirty talk. Hell, Armie never talked dirty. When he speaks during sex it’s to shower Timothée with praises and compliments. It’s more effective anyway. 

Armie knotted him that night. He still left immediately after. 

When Timothée saw the bank transfer the next day, even the weekend had been compensated. Armie won’t show his face then. 

Still, one thousand and six hundred dollars is a lot. No complaints. 

The following week saw Timothée getting progressively irate. No Armie; not a text, nothing. It was Wednesday night when Timothée took it upon himself to check, sending Armie a text regarding their arrangement for the first time. 

_Not showing up?_ Timothée stared at his phone until Armie’s reply came. 

_No._ The message was followed by a notification from his account. 

One thousand dollars. It’s Timothée’s supposed weekend compensation, with two hundred excess to placate him. 

Needless to say, Timothée was fuming. 

He still tries, especially in the cafe. When a customer walks in he would greet them cheerfully and serve the best way he could. Even if all of it had been a put-up job, it got him by. Timothée has learned to live with less than desirable circumstances and this is no different from that. Armie would come around when he felt like it. With the way he acted the last time they had sex, the alpha was still as affected as he has always been. Timothée is just being selfish and greedy. 

“Timmy,” Paige comes up to him the following week, just as their shift was ending. “What do you think of Justin?” 

Timothée grimaces. “We’ve gone through this. He’s nice and good looking. I’d vote for him if you’re going out.” 

Paige gapes at him. Even Josh turns to look then groans loudly. 

“Oh my God, Timmy!” Josh slides face down on the bar, shaking his head. 

Huffing, Paige says “I can’t believe I heard that.” 

“What?” Timothée has already been in a foul mood because of one tall, blonde alpha in his life. He’s not looking forward to adding another. 

“It’s you!” Josh’s voice is muffled into his arms as he remains planted on the table. 

Timothée looks between them, puzzled. Paige can’t stand it so she speaks. 

“Tim, come on. You can’t be serious.” 

“I literally am so lost.” 

Josh straightens. “Paige and Justin aren’t getting it on because he’s here for you.” 

Dismissive, Timothée says “Well if you want.” He looks at Paige. “I’m not interested.” 

“You said he’s nice and good looking!” Paige shouts behind him. 

This isn’t even a matter up for discussion for Timothée. When Justin showed up two days later and asked him out himself, Timothée let him down gently. The alpha was a good sport. He only shrugged and laughed sheepishly. 

“I had to try, at least.” 

Timothée smiled. Paige and Josh grouched and whined at him for the duration of the shift. There’s nothing to be done about that. He’s a personal service omega. But they don’t need to know that. 

Another one thousand dollars got transferred to his account before it was weekend. 

_Are you paying me now to stay away?_ Timothée sent the text hoping Armie would refute. 

_Busy._

Timothée fought the urge to fling the phone to the wall. 

Since the weekend is free, Timothée went out that Sunday to treat himself. He didn’t go crazy with spending. Treating himself honestly just consisted of him buying new clothes, a pair of shoes, getting a haircut, and getting a little more for groceries, like some real cheese, the butter and jam he liked and fresh loaves of bread. It was a normal errand day that he never really got around to enjoy because he lived day-to-day wages. 

Idly, he’s been thinking about going job hunting again, just in case the arrangement with Armie really goes downhill from here. Timothée might be overreacting and feeling entitled. Actually, that’s a more probable answer. Still, he wants to return to that state of self-sufficiency that he was in before Armie came along. Sure, being his personal omega paid very well, but Timothée wants to rub it in his face that he doesn’t need him, and he will live even after Armie took what he wanted and left him in the aftermath of the havoc. 

Timothée knows he doesn’t have a lot of options. He’ll land another service job and rely again on tips to raise his wages. It doesn’t help that he literally has no skills or talents to get him by. It’s probably going to be another bartending gig then. If Armie doesn’t get his act together for another week, then Timothée will take that as a sign. 

The sign came in a completely different form than what Timothée had been expecting. It was an ordinary shift in the cafe, pretty relaxed since it’s not yet break time for the establishments around. Timothée had just finished making coffee for a customer when Justin walked in and eyed her as she went. Paige was behind the register and greeted him. It’s the usual black coffee with red velvet cupcake. Without being told, Timothée got his order running. Josh clapped Justin on the shoulder and they chatted by the bar. 

“Moving to tall alphas now?” Josh teased, poking Justin with a pen. 

Alarmed, Justin whipped to see if Timothée was listening. “No, asshole. She’s married.” 

Ah, yes. If only Timothée followed that line of thinking. 

“So why are you ogling her?” Paige chimed in, eager to annoy the alpha. 

“I’m not ogling. What the fuck are you two?” 

“Aw, you’re blushing!” 

Timothée fought his own chuckle as he put the order on a tray to serve. “Here.” 

Justin blushed even more. “Fuck off.” He pulled the tray closer. “I’ve only heard of them okay? That’s Elizabeth Hammer. They’re an alpha-alpha pair.” 

That is indeed unconventional. Every other combination worked fine except alpha-alpha, mainly because they butt heads too much and neither would give way. It’s also dangerous for them to exchange mating bites. The instincts to dominate would drive them apart before it completes. Alpha-alpha pairs, as rare as they are, would only settle for a claim. 

“That works?” Paige asked, curious. 

Justin nodded. “Happily married, I heard. I think since, what? Ten years? Together even longer. I think her husband comes here. I’ve seen him. Armie Hammer.” 

At least Paige and Josh can control their reactions and are thankfully uninteresting betas with no scent indicators. Timothée felt his blood run cold. 

“Armie, like, tall, blonde, blue-eyed guy?” It was Paige asking to clarify. 

Justin hummed in confirmation. “Big money. I think investment and stocks, banking too. So that description plus bougie suits.” 

For the first time in months, Timothée felt sick in his stomach about what he'd done. Paige followed him in the break room where he’d been gripping the sink. 

“Oh my God, Timmy. Are you alright? Jesus Christ. Good thing that alpha got off your back, huh?” 

That did it. Timothée threw up until cold sweat soaked his uniform. 

When one thousand dollars got transferred to his account that night, Timothée sent it back. 

_I served your wife at the cafe._

Armie didn’t reply. 

The next time Justin hung out in the cafe, Timothée pretended to be in a better mood, friendlier and joking around. It flustered Justin endlessly. When Timothée saw Paige urging him to try again in the corner of his eyes, he smirked to himself. 

“Can I shoot my shot again?” Justin clearly wasn’t expecting anything to come out of it. 

Smiling, Timothée gave him a teasing once over before replying “You know what? I think you’re right. It might be good.” 

It doesn’t even matter what it would be. The only important thing was to run the other direction from Armie. His wife isn’t just a background noise anymore. She never was. Her name is Elizabeth Hammer, and she believes that her husband of ten years is happily married to her despite their impossible bond. 

If the universe ever gave Timothée a plain and simple sign to get another job, this is it. 

When he returned to his flat that night, he cleaned until he passed out on the rug in his living room. Despite his best efforts, all traces of Armie have stuck to every inch of his apartment. It drove him to tears. All of a sudden, his ardent training of ignoring the voice of his conscience has turned into ash. Timothée is back again to wallowing in guilt and self-loathing, letting his nostrils burn and stomach lurch with every inhale as Armie lingered heavily in the air. It’s his punishment. 

The packet of cigarettes that Timothée liked to steal from Armie is still on his kitchen table, half full. He emptied it by dawn.

Justin asked to pick him up in his flat that Friday night. Timothée spent a full minute staring at the message before he laughed cynically. Here? Where it stinked of another alpha? No fucking way. He’s not sabotaging his rebound even before it started. 

Timothée turned him down, opting instead to meet where they’re going for the night. If he wasn’t using Justin as a band aid solution to the mess he put himself in, it would’ve counted that the alpha is quite endearing. He’s taking Timothée in a nice restaurant in an even nicer side of New York. Even his exes never bothered, but then they had been stupidly young, so he shouldn’t hold that against them. 

To his surprise, it turned out to be a French restaurant. Justin was pretty confident about his choice when they met up on the pavement in front of the establishment. 

“Was it Paige or Josh?” Timothée glanced at Justin in the corner of his eyes, amused at the effort.

“Huh?” 

“The one who told you I’m French.”

Bashful, Justin admitted “Ah, that was Paige.” 

Laughing, Timothée warned “Because you cheated, you’re ordering for yourself.” 

It was a good distraction. Justin fumbled a lot because of the unfamiliar menu. He’d studied French as a foreign language in high school, but clearly it didn’t work out very well. At least he managed his order. Timothée was delighted to pick his food. The place seemed authentic enough. It had been ages since he last had a satisfying French meal. Both of his parents were great cooks, so the date brought back pleasant memories from simpler times. 

Justin, for an alpha with his stature, seemed pretty sweet. Sure, he has conservative views here and there, but overall he’s fine. He’d been polite to the servers and was actually interested to hear Timothée talk. In truth, it was him who’s reluctant to share. He has no intentions of dragging this on, so he would say a few bits and pieces to satisfy Justin before changing the topic. 

Born and raised in Boston, Justin moved to New York for college. He’s in junior year now, pretty much the same age as Timothée. An engineering major. It almost made Timothée snort. Justin looked exactly as he is. 

“Were you in a varsity team in high school?” Timothée asked, just to prove his point to himself. 

Justin was quick to pounce on the opportunity to show off. “Yeah, swimming. Why?” 

“Just checking.” 

They’re Catholics, he said. The political spectrum where Timothée is seeing his family to be isn’t looking so good, but that doesn’t matter when he has no plans to make things last. 

Timothée offered to split the bill when it arrived, but Justin had none of it. 

“Want to grab some drinks?” Timothée has no idea why he roped Justin like that, especially when he clearly didn’t need any more of it. 

Eager to spend more time with him, Justin agreed. “Your call.” 

Because he had a lot of sense in him when he’s not helplessly scent bonded with an alpha, Timothée decidedly did not bring Justin to the bar he worked in. It’s a Friday night. Armie and his colleagues could be there. 

Instead, Timothée picked the one nearest but had a more relaxed atmosphere. They continued to talk over drinks. Justin shared a lot of his interests. He’s athletic, that’s a given. He excelled in math and sciences, hence his major. He’s not so much of an avid reader but he played the guitar. 

Timothée shared only those that Paige and Josh knew, which were very few. French-American, lived alternately in France and the U.S. The reason why he got the job at the cafe with no formal training was because he _knew_ his coffee, having grown up where they brewed it themselves. He’s a helpless cook, though. He told him he almost went to New York University for nursing, but couldn’t. Another story for another time, he’d said. Justin was content with the promise of a second date. 

All in all, for a rebound, Justin was very good. He’s entertaining and polite. Some things that come out of his mouth can be confusing, but Timothée supposed that it took time to shake off an upbringing. Generally, he’s easygoing and courteous. Not very smart, in the sheltered, privileged kind of way. Still, when he found out that Timothée would walk to Flatbush late at night, he insisted on going with him. 

It was quite possibly his best experience with dates, which was sad, because it wasn’t even that fun. Justin simply treated him well. He wasn’t that interesting, nor did Timothée feel a pinch of attraction for him. That didn’t stop him from letting the alpha know where his building was. There’s no chance that he’d invite him to go up to his flat, not at that state. Timothée even doubts that he would ever. 

When they arrived, Timothée turned on his heels to face Justin. They exchanged smiles. 

“So, this is me.” Timothée said coyly, just to keep Justin hanging around. “You have my number. Call me again?” 

Even if Justin had been waiting to be invited inside, this seemed like good enough still. “You bet, I would.” 

They were thanking each other when Timothée felt discomfort on his skin. It was unexpected, especially when he’d felt alright the entire time. He thought it was because of the scenery. He’s where he broke his dignity piece by piece until it’s ashes on his feet. The wind blew, then everything that had been going on in his mind changed. His skin came alight, his blood boiling with the rush. 

Timothée didn’t have to look. He can smell Armie’s anger all the way from where he stood. 

So he pulled Justin down for a kiss. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know lmao when I look at this story’s outline I get a headache.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Timmy is pressured to consent and there’s an attempt to force him into sex. Idc if that spoils the fic it’s important that you guys know what’s in here. It is not upon me to decide what is extreme or light for other people and their trauma. I’m not taking chances. 
> 
> Having said that!!! Hello. Welcome back to my vent fic.

Cutting off the arrangement, going on a date, kissing Justin, making Armie watch, all of it had done nothing to appease Timothée. It was all too easy to push Elizabeth to the back of his mind again when he felt Armie’s rage as he found him with another man. Of course it all would come down to him. When Timothée came up to his flat after his display, he found a text from Armie a few hours back, asking to meet. 

Reading it made Timothée want to tear down and break everything in sight. He hated how he’d felt remorseful in an instant. If only he’d waited a few more hours. If only he’d been a little less reckless. It’s always been like this between them. Their good sense only stayed as long as they’re apart. It’s as though they’ve drugged each other to the point of codependency. 

Timothée nursed his own rage just under his skin. He felt entitled to it. There was no other emotion he could turn to at this point. All had already been said and done. No amount of effort could undo any of it. Timothée felt slighted, above anything. He’d started out good. Even if he had a hard life it was ethical and righteous. Of course they are halves of one decision that brought them here. That still didn’t stop Timothée from digging everything and dumping it to Armie. 

It was a financial leverage. Armie obviously has more of it where Timothée’s pay came from. It had been good money. The best he’d ever earned. He’s still using a lot of it while he’s looking for a new job. Timothée was put in a position where he felt stupid to refuse. Eight hundred per meeting as compared to bartending where he’d work the entire weekend and can only dream to breach that figure. That, and the fact that Armie wanted him _so_ bad, then Timothée was sold. Even if it meant going behind an innocent woman’s back. Then, the money helped his sister, his family, himself. The need only grew and grew and Armie had been generous to indulge his never ending greed. 

More than that, not a second of it felt like work. They’d been so intoxicated with each other that their pleasures took the topmost priority every single time. They haven’t parted and yet were already looking forward to the next. It was a heady rush and they’d been addicted. There’s no other way to explain it at this point. 

Justin had been an instrument to his toxic spiral these days. He’d turn up in the cafe and get his usual. Paige and Josh never tried to be subtle with driving him off the bar when there were hardly any orders. Timothée entertained them all, sitting with Justin and chatting listlessly about mundane things. 

The lack of attraction would’ve put Timothée to sleep if he hadn’t thought of Armie constantly. It became his fuel for keeping things up with Justin. If he hung around until Timothée got off his shift, then it’s fine. They could go around, have dinner. One time, they even watched a movie before grabbing a few drinks. When Timothée felt more at ease, he’d let Justin kiss him, sometimes even feel him up. Playing coy, Timothée would peck on his nose and pull away. He maintained his scent blockers throughout the day because of this. There’s no way that it would escape Justin’s notice when Timothée’s scent would tell him that he’d never once felt thrilled by anything they’d done. 

Still, to add to Timothée’s brewing fury, Armie hadn’t bothered with anything. Not a text. Not a weekend compensation. Well, the latter would only make Timothée angrier. He’d probably get a hold of Armie and clawed at his face if he paid him one more time to stay away. For someone who could’ve terrified the entire block with his anger, Armie sure knew to stay away. In a way, it was probably his way of getting back at Timothée. If he’d even bother, that is. 

Often, Timothée would try to imagine where Armie had stood that night, what he wore, how his expression played out. He would touch himself and push the toys they’d used inside him, fucking himself in earnest as he thought of Armie following him up to his flat. The rage he released out into the street would likely translate in bed. Armie would fuck Timothée brutally, punishing him for breaking their exclusivity and kissing another alpha in front of him. Armie could spank him, maybe even tie him up. Timothée would bet he’d get knotted if that happened. Armie wouldn’t pass on the chance of reminding him of who he belonged to. Timothée would come so hard from that fantasy alone, but even those intense orgasms were silly facsimiles of the real thing. 

Just to try his luck, Timothée allowed Justin to pick him up from his building one weekend date. That was when he knew he’d never invite the alpha ever again. If Armie wasn’t there to see, all Timothée had wanted to do was drive Justin as far away from his flat as possible. They’d gone out to a skating rink that night. It was fun. Not the conversations, though. Justin is so painfully caged in his privileged bubble and out of touch with the common struggle around him. 

“You and Justin had gone pretty steady.” Josh jutted his chin at Timothée during their break, eating nuts that weren’t good enough anymore to be sold but hadn’t gone bad yet either. 

Rolling his eyes, Timothée replied “It’s only been two weeks.”

There weren’t any customers that time so Paige went to the doorframe of the break room, joining in. 

“He’s so smitten with you. Have you smashed?” Paige made obnoxious hip thrusts. 

“What?” The reply came too defensively. Timothée had never once thought of sex with Justin. Given the idea, all it inspired from him was a cringe. “No, Jesus.” 

Josh eyed him, taking offense on behalf of Justin. “Hey! No need to sound disgusted. Geez, was your last fuck buddy still around?” 

Timothée had never talked to them about his sex life. “My what now?” 

“Oh come on. We may be betas, but you can generally tell if a person had been hitting the sack _good._ ” Josh didn’t even seem perturbed by the thought of Timothée keeping a fuck buddy on top of going out with a regular customer. 

Snorting, Timothée figured he could play along. “God, if you only knew. He fucked like a pornstar.” 

Josh’s face crumbled in disgust. Paige was on the floor laughing until the door chimed and a customer needed their caffeine fix. 

That night, Timothée was supposed to go out with Justin for dinner. They’re on the point where they’re splitting the bill, but the alpha had always insisted on paying for them both, especially when it was his idea. On the other hand, Timothée had only ever suggested drinks time and time again, so he covered that. Honestly, he didn’t think he could make out with Justin completely sober. 

It wasn’t that he’s not good looking, because he is. There’s just nothing from Timothée’s side. Besides, Justin reminds him too much of Armie, just the general idea of them. Tall, blonde, blue-eyed alphas. Except that Justin is leaner in physique, shorter by a few inches, bright, golden hair compared to Armie’s dark blonde, the wrong color of the eyes. The lack of scent appeal. It was all a sorry imitation that Timothée kept poking his wounds with. 

Much to his exhilaration, Armie sent him a text just as he was leaving his shift. 

_Let’s talk._

Timothée canceled on Justin so fast. An emergency, he lied. He didn’t spare the other alpha another thought after. 

_Where?_ Timothée wanted it to be his flat. 

_Is there a cafe nearby?_

_Meet me in front of my building._

It was clear that Armie was trying to actually talk rather than just jump into bed with Timothée. Honestly, even if he’d resist and try to make it hard for Armie, Timothée would be fooling no one. They’d be fucking before either of them knew it. 

That was about the fastest walk back home that Timothée had done. Armie’s car was right there, and he knew he’d follow even if he walked straight into the hole in the wall hipster cafe in a nook near his building. Timothée had gone there once before and never returned again. It wasn’t bad. He’s just not too thrilled with fortune telling or astrology. Vegan options were nice, though. Props. 

Armie entered shortly after him, looking out of place in the small cafe that made him appear taller than he really was. Flagging him down with a wave, Timothée motioned to the chair across him. It was a good thing that he kept up with his blockers when he thought he’s going out with Justin. 

“What’s up?” Timothée asks with a curt nod. 

Armie gapes at him, offended and irritated. 

“What? Talk.” It was so satisfying. 

Taking a deep breath, Armie glances around to buy himself some more time until his emotions are in check. “We agreed on an exclusive contract.” 

“We did.” Timothée drinks a sip of his tea. 

There’s silence as Armie waits for him to elaborate. He doesn’t. 

“How long? With this guy?” 

The gall on this man. 

“When you were on your way to ghost me, I agreed to go out with him.” 

Armie raises his brow at that. “I wasn’t ghosting you.” 

Huffing, Timothée pushes his cup aside to lean forward on the table. “Are you really pulling that on me? Because if so, then I’m leaving.” 

“So you’d rather this man.” Armie states flatly. 

The woman by the counter realized that they’re in a heated conversation. She was nice enough to disappear to the back. 

“Why the fuck not? And why does that matter to you all of a sudden?” Timothée wants to hurt Armie so bad. 

Armie pinches the bridge of his nose like this has been such a hardship so far. “Is this really how we’re going at it after everything? You’ve already plunged us way too deep.”

“Me?” Timothée repeats, angry. “I stayed away. I never acknowledged this stupid bond. All of it was _you._ You’re the one who can’t stay away.” 

Armie’s anger is rising too. “That’s why I’m trying to renegotiate. Drop him, and we’ll pick up where we left off.” 

There is nothing else that Timothée wants but this. He wants them to lash out at each other until it’s justified to keep landing blows. 

“Are you even still interested? Sure as hell appeared as though you just can’t stand seeing me with another tall blonde alpha.” 

Armie scoffs. “Why would you even bother with someone who looks like me?” 

A dismissive shrug. “Maybe I have a type. Haven’t you heard of the light hair-dark hair pairing?” 

“Not if it’s you and me, no.” 

God, Armie really does reduce him instantly at his feet. This is the most acknowledgment of their scent bond for what it truly is if Timothée had ever heard one. He needs to get out of the cafe. Where that would take them is yet to be seen. 

Armie followed him automatically out to the street. Timothée flinched hard when he felt a touch on his arm. 

“Hands off. I’m no longer a merchandise.” Timothée fixeds him with a cold stare. “You’ve let me go.” 

“You can end this discussion by saying you’re not engaging into an arrangement with me from here onwards.” 

Timothée cannot swear that, and not even on the account of the deal alone. He _wants._

“Get the hell out of my face.” Timothée snaps instead. 

If the two weeks without Armie had been bad, Timothée just hit a new low after their fight. He bought four packets of cigarettes. There’s a bottle of Jack on promo so he got that too. When he arrived in his flat, he called in sick the next day. Even to Mrs. Corden, and writing a message to Elisse to explain that he’s down with the flu. 

Timothée never left his apartment since. He’d gone through sticks after sticks of cigarette, downed the whiskey until he emptied the bottle on his own. He hardly ate, and everything hurt in the process. Time has slowly erased Armie’s smell from his apartment, and he found himself slowly chasing the little corners where it still lingered. Desperate, grieving, furious. He wants to return to Armie’s side and he wants to hurt him and he wants him to want this just as much. Timothée thought of ways he could’ve done things differently the last time they talked, what he could’ve said better. Sometimes, he imagined himself reconciling. Others, he imagined a blowout fight. The latter would always win. Timothée endlessly fantasized on a drawn out fight until they bled and bled, knowing there’s no one who can put them back together but each other. 

Despite the new pit that he found himself in, Timothée still had it in him to touch himself. He still comes at the thought of Armie, but his body is brutally honest with him. It doesn’t want anything other than Armie’s gentle caress and revering kisses and languid thrusts. His body wants to remember how Armie cradled him and shushed him and soothed him. Drunk and utterly out of his mind with sadness, Timothée accepts the fantasies, plays them again and again until his own body gives up on him. 

There’s no other choice but to get up on Tuesday. That’s alright. Timothée felt ready to face the world when it came. The first person he called was Pauline, apologizing for putting his phone off. He hates lying to her, but the truth coming from him had never been good these few months, so he reused his excuse about having the flu. Pauline chided him for making them worry, but more concerned about checking up on him. Paige and Josh wished him to get better when they heard that he took a sick leave. Justin didn’t spam him as much as he thought he would. He left messages here and there, but Timothée could really use a good stroke on his ego. Justin could’ve gone more dramatic than threatening to storm his apartment if he doesn’t show up to work. 

God, he wants Armie’s attention so bad. He wants the alpha to chase him and ask him over and over so Timothée can turn him down again and again, only for it to start from the top until Timothée could pretend that he felt forced to agree when it’s all he’s ever wanted in the first place. Armie hasn’t bothered with him since. 

Timothée had gone so toxic that even he felt sick with himself. 

When he arrived for his shift at work, he had a new practiced demeanor. Timothée had naturally been pale and visibly lost weight just from that weekend alone; not having consumed a lot or slept while wasting away on cigarettes and liquor. The flu excuse worked out perfectly. 

The rest of the shift was his coworkers doting on him. Justin didn’t show up until two days later, but he left messages about school or other things. Timothée didn’t care. When the alpha arrived, he entertained him. Timothée pretended to still be feeling a little weak but trying to stay on his feet for work. It got him his desired result as Justin fumbled around him. Since Armie’s scent had completely gone - he’s checked during the weekend, thoroughly - Timothée felt confident about letting Justin bring him to his flat after his shift. 

It wasn’t a surprise that he didn’t know how to cook, so he ordered in. It was pho. Timothée didn’t think he’d ever had it before. It was very nice. Comforting. A hearty meal. Justin went home after dinner. 

After Justin left, he told Timothée he’d pick him up Saturday night for a date. That was already a work day, so what’s another couple of hours? Timothée pretended to be excited, replying enthusiastically. It was easy to get Justin moving. Alphas like feeling needed and important. Timothée would play the vulnerable, wide-eyed omega until he can’t stand him anymore. 

Elisse was a wonderful breather. Unlike the previous classes, she waited for Timothée in their foyer and checked on him. She asked him about what happened, how he’s feeling and if he’s better now. It was heartwarming. When they got up in her room, she showed him self-exercises she answered since Timothée couldn’t make it the last time. It was always obvious if she’d done it with help or by herself. Timothée felt so satisfied to find her actually working on it even if he didn’t leave her with anything. 

_“You’re better now!”_ Timothée exclaimed as he read through the worksheets. _“Did you use our book?”_

Nodding eagerly, Elisse opened to the page she referred to and walked Timothée through her self-studying the previous weekend. She has enough familiarity with the language that the grammar was getting instinctual. It was an incredible feeling to see a student learn and enjoy it. 

Since Elisse had done nearly half of the things they need to cover that day, Timothée settled on checking her understanding and reviewing her knowledge. She showed good retention, and they did exercises again. Their afternoon tea was dearly missed. Timothée noticed that the selection was French pastries; macarons, tarts and madeleines. Elisse sheepishly asked if he liked it because she wanted to do something nice after he came down with the flu. Timothée had felt more cared for then than he ever did with Justin at his feet and bending over backwards. 

One of her interests had always been animation, so Timothée suggested a classic Japanese children’s movie and changed the voice and subtitles to French. It hadn’t been the first time Elisse had seen it, but it had been extremely wonderful as she realized that she understood everything for the most part. 

The Saturday class had put Timothée in a better mood that he didn’t feel resentful to trudge to the address Justin gave him. Timothée arrived in a candlelit dinner to what turned out to be the alpha’s one bedroom apartment. It was just as he expected. Paid off by his parents. Living in a nice neighborhood. Justin is even surprisingly tidy. 

It was a nice thing to do. Justin admitted that obviously he didn’t cook it and had someone over to do it. Timothée kissed him on the cheek and thanked him, making him blush and flustered. They had dinner and talked about their days. Primarily, Justin had just finished a tough week at school. He had projects coming along and this weekend would likely be the last that he’d get enough rest. Timothée pretended to be interested on top of pretending to know what he was saying. It worked anyway. Timothée had been made to recall his fake flu, so he just listed the symptoms and the effects with a few personal touches here and there to make it sound more believable. When Justin shook his head in worry, Timothée would’ve scoffed if he could. 

By the end of their meal, Timothée knew he had more prosecco than the food. It was good, probably even prepared by a professional, but he just preferred to make his head swim a little if he was going to be there longer. 

True enough, Justin put in a movie for them to watch. Where this was going was getting clearer and clearer by the second. Timothée downed his glass of prosecco and poured himself half a glass full again when Justin had gone to make popcorn. He emptied it before the alpha could return. 

They snuggled on the couch, or at least Justin snuggled on him. Timothée waited impatiently for the prosecco to start hitting so the whole ordeal could be a little more bearable. He had no idea what the movie was, and it clearly wasn’t important when Justin was kissing on his shoulders to his neck not even twenty minutes in. 

“I thought we’re watching.” Timothée tries to play coy or he’d throw up. 

Justin chuckles in his ear, nibbling at the shell. “There are better things to do.” 

“Well, I’m actually interested.” Timothée grabs the bowl of popcorn and starts eating it, feeding Justin when he tries to latch back on his neck. 

Justin still thinks they are messing around. If the scent blockers fade, he’d be in for a nasty surprise. 

“Really? What is it about?” 

The popcorn bowl is taken out of his hands. Justin begins to feel him up and skimming under his shirt. 

Timothée squirmed away. “It’s just starting - Justin, stop.” 

Justin is on his neck already, his hand playing with a nipple. Timothée’s skin broke in terrible goosebumps and he’s starting to feel sick. The air is filling quickly with Justin’s heavy arousal. 

“Why? We’re already here.”

“We’ve had too much wine.” 

“Oh, seriously? Isn’t that what it was for?” Justin is getting impatient, parting Timothée’s legs with his own and starting to lay him down on the couch. 

It’s only then did Timothée realize that he wasn’t the only one keeping scores. Justin had been too. He picked him up so he got to decide the place. He would let Timothée drag him to places but make him pay. He set up a romantic dinner so he deserved sex. Why did he even trust conservatives? Now Justin is forcing himself on him. 

“Justin, stop.” Timothée tries to shove him off. “I’m not ready - stop it!” 

Justin had nosed along his neck where his scent is. Even though there’s nothing to smell because of the blockers, it’s still overly uncomfortable when it’s an intimate thing but now making his skin crawl. 

Timothée braces his arms, pushing hard. “Stop! Are you really forcing yourself on me?” 

The air shifts. The alpha was fast agitated with him. “Seriously? You act like you apartment doesn’t reek of you fucking everywhere and touching yourself.” 

Timothée felt his stomach turn. “What?” 

“Your apartment! What the fuck? Inviting me over and over so I can smell where you masturbated and now you’re acting like you don’t want it.” 

Maybe it was simply sexual frustration. Maybe Justin really thought that he’d just been playing hard to get. Truthfully, Timothée had a hand in that, especially with how much he led the alpha on. Still, it stung. He hadn’t kept Justin around for this. He’s in Timothée’s life for validation and attention that he doesn’t get where he truly wants it. He thought he’d played his cards right, that he had the alpha on a leash. It shatters his pride to know that he’s still expected to be used for pleasure when he just recently turned Armie away for it. 

“I’m leaving.” 

Justin panics. Timothée is already on his feet and gathering his stuff. “Wait, no, come on. I’m sorry, come back.” 

Timothée shrugs his touch off. “Quit fucking touching me.” 

“Can you chill out? We’ve been going out for a month, where do you think this was going?”

Nowhere. Timothée doesn’t even want to see him again. “Not with you ignoring when I’ve said no.” 

Justin actually rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’m sorry. Stop bitching about it now, come here.” 

The way Justin put it froze Timothée in place. He made it sound ridiculous, like he doesn’t even believe that Timothée meant it. The tug on his wrist became a hand across his back and Justin was trying to get his mouth to open as their lips pressed together. 

Pounding his fist on the alpha’s chest, Timothée dislodges them, only for Justin to press him up against the wall and kiss his neck to his collarbones. His dick is flushed against Timothée’s thigh, and he begins humping as he pushes his shirt up to his chest to expose his torso. 

Timothée is going to throw up. “Get off-” 

He’s cut off when Justin puts his hand over his mouth. “Stop fighting.” 

That did it. Timothée rearranges their crotches, sobbing as he feels the outline of the erection brushing along his legs, then knees Justin right in the groin. 

Timothée didn’t wait for anything else. He took his stuff and bolted. 

“Timothée!” Justin shouted from the hallway. 

The walls felt like they closed in on him. Timothée smashes the elevator button to close before Justin could find him. It was the most sickening seconds of his life as the alpha came to his line of sight and made a run for it. The doors closed just before Justin could slip his arm between the gap. 

It still isn’t over. Justin could use the stairs or another lift and arrive at the lobby a few seconds after him. It's obvious that he’s at a great disadvantage, especially in the alpha’s residence, and he’s an omega who came over on his own. The staff would likely not take his side, nor will the security. 

_Help._ Timothée couldn’t think of anyone else but Armie.

_Please._

The elevator ride hasn’t even ended yet when Armie calls him. 

“Where are you?” 

It was a relief to hear his voice again. Timothée cries out and blurts the address. 

Armie made shushing noises. “I’ll come get you.” 

“Please, please. I think he followed me down-”

“Find the restroom.” 

Following Armie’s orders through the line was easy; natural. He hangs up then. From the sound of it, he’s rushing, too. 

When the doors open, Timothée bolts to a nearby staff and asks where it is. There’s one for omegas, a safety measure and oftentimes also a PR stunt for establishments, but he’s thankful now that it’s here. Timothée couldn’t tell if Justin is on his trail, given the fragrance in the lobby intended to mute the scents. It was another blessing, and Timothée had taken blockers a few hours past, too. When he locked his stall, he folded into himself and threw up. He wanted that. He forces the rest out of him, a weak attempt to purge himself of the night. Timothée stayed hunched over the toilet, dry heaving until he lost his breath and collapsed on the floor. He’d rather lose consciousness than remain awake for the aftermath of it. 

Since he never really gets what he wants, Timothée spent an unknown amount of time staring at the blank divider of the stall. The more he’s unoccupied, the more his body recalls where Justin’s touches had been. He feels absolutely disgusting. When Armie gets there, he’d likely just dump Timothée to his flat with a shake of his head. There’s no way he’d want him now. 

Now he’s back to square one. He has no one again. He’ll just have to make do with that; fill his days with work and shifts so he doesn’t spend a second looking around to check his life. It’s back to merely surviving.

With that thought, Timothée pushes himself to his feet. If he’s doing it, then he’s starting now. He went to the sink and took a good look at himself. It’s as bad as he feels. Cupping water in his hands, Timothée splashed it on his face and rinsed his mouth. He dug out his mints to rid of the acidic aftertaste as well as an attempt to clean off Justin’s breach into it. 

The knocks came rapidly and urgently. Timothée supposed it’s about time that someone else needed to use the restroom. It could also be Justin, and if so then he’s royally fucked. There’s nothing that can be done to improve his state, so he just braced himself for whatever it is that he would face when he opens the door. 

“Timothée?” It was Armie. 

Timothée swings the door open so fast. “Armie,” he croaks weakly. “You’re here.” 

Something about Armie’s scent tells him that he’s pretty hurt. They don’t make a move to come together though, no matter how hard their eyes are burning on each other. 

Armie settles with a nod. “Come,” he orders as he steps away to let him pass. 

Timothée understood. They walk out of the building with reasonable space between them so it looks casual enough. Armie had carelessly pulled over to the side. He could’ve gotten fined, but clearly luck was on his side. They slid into the car and drove away in silence. Armie is visibly tense, his scent filling the car with his worry and panic. 

The seat is reclined so Timothée is half lying down, facing Armie. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me?” He’s waiting for the jabs. For Armie to say ‘I told you so.’ Maybe even mock him for thinking that he could put this all behind. 

Instead, Armie sighs. “Don’t feel obliged because I helped you.” 

“I’ve been going out with him for a month. That’s how long we’ve been apart.” Timothée says and they’re acid in his mouth. “He said I should sleep with him by now.” 

When Armie’s scent spikes with anger, he closes his eyes and takes it as comfort. They both kept silent from there. 

“Where are we going?” Timothée finally asked when he noticed they’re not driving to his flat. 

Armie juts his chin towards the side of the road. “The store.” He pulls over and prepares to climb out. “Stay here.” 

There’s nowhere else Timothée can go to. Not in his condition. For the meantime, he closed his eyes, letting his nostrils get its fill of Armie’s scent. He’s afraid that this might be the last and he’ll spend all his time trying to find a replica of the best thing he never had. 

When Armie returned, he began to pull out bottles of water, trail mix and chocolates. “Drink water, then eat these.” 

They were dropped listlessly on Timothée’s lap. It gives him something to do other than wallow in self-pity so he does as he’s told. 

When Armie still doesn’t drive them to his flat, Timothée doesn’t say anything about it. If he gets to be around Armie longer, then he’ll take it. They still sit there in silence; Armie driving with tension steadily rolling off of him while Timothée is eating the trail mix and chocolate piece by piece. 

They’re away from the district buzz by the time Armie stops driving and pulls up by an empty yard. It was evident that he’s finally letting himself think back on what happened as he starts getting worked up again. Timothée dumps the empty wrappers in the plastic bag and puts away the water bottle. What the blow over is going to be, he’ll find out. 

Before speaking, Armie makes sure to steady his breathing. “Who’s he?” 

“A regular in the cafe. Justin. He was the one who recognized your wife when she came by.” 

That shocked Armie, but not enough to throw him off. “Does he know where you live?” 

Ah, there goes. Timothée supposed that’s one more thing to thank Armie for. He didn’t even think about the possibility of Justin showing up to his flat. 

“Yes, he came over to take care of me.” Timothée admits. 

Armie is more alarmed, but his rage still flared under it. “What happened to you?”

“I was sick.” At that moment, Timothée doesn’t think it’s a lie anymore when he’d spent the weekend smoking and drinking and touching himself. 

Armie tried to steady his breathing again but held it when he inhaled. Pushing his door open, he climbs out of the car like it’s on fire. Timothée gets out to follow him and realizes why. His scent blockers have worn off. It’s better to stand there in the open clearing where they’re not constantly breathing in each other. 

Tugging his collar open, Armie throws his tie in the car and pushes his hair to the back of his head. He’s letting his anger flow. 

“Why did you do that?” He turns to Timothée, demanding. His eyes are wild while the rest of him stays rigid to keep his emotions in control. 

_Why did you break our agreement,_ is what he’s asking. 

Every instinct in Timothée’s body betrayed the resolution that he had a week ago. All he wanted to do was kneel and submit, distressed and on the verge of tears in the face of Armie’s disappointment. 

“I can’t be without you but I don’t want to be alone, either. I miss you.” 

Armie hadn’t expected his honesty. He stops pacing and gawks at him instead, his fury deflating as his worry resurfaces. 

Timothée has nothing left to lose anymore. He’s already dropped his empty desire to maim or escape. There’s only room for his truthfulness and he’d let it out even if it meant giving this up forever. 

“Will you still touch me? I promise we never went beyond kissing.” 

It had broken Armie. It was likely the combination of him and his scent, bared open in ways that Armie hadn’t seen in a month. Before Timothée knew it, he’s trapped in Armie’s embrace; finally surrounded again with his scent and touch that he fell limp. 

“ _Armie,_ ” he sobs out as he buries his face into the alpha’s neck. 

Timothée smells from Armie every single emotion he’s feeling. They’re relieved, terrified, starved, _elated._ It ceases to matter that he feels desperate and pathetic when Armie is just as bad. 

Now that it’s put to perspective, he never wanted to hurt Armie. Not in all the ways that he imagined. Timothée only wanted him to _need_ him like this, and if the alpha doesn’t return the sentiment then he would feel the desire to break them both so he’s not all alone. 

But Armie does. He needs Timothée the same way. 

“I don't want to see you with anyone else again.” 

Timothée nods eagerly, kissing the promise right on Armie’s pulse point. It releases a wave of satisfaction throughout the alpha’s body that he finally relaxes, though his grip around Timothée’s body only increases.

It was welcomed. Timothée was only as good as standing as Armie held him up. They breathed each other for a while, scenting and enjoying all that they deprived themselves of in the miserable month that’s now behind them. 

When they pull away, Armie strokes the side of his face. “What did he do to you?” 

Protesting, Timothée tries to move away. “It doesn’t matter anymore-”

“I want to know.” Armie’s blatant jealousy took his breath away. “Where did he touch you?” 

The air between them changes as the current thrums, coming even more alive when their eyes meet and Timothée sees the intensity in Armie’s gaze. There’s a gap as they stand apart and it hums with the magnetic pull that helplessly binds them to each other. 

“He was feeling me up. I think he touched my thighs first.” Armie’s eyes immediately drop its gaze to Timothée’s legs. “My stomach, then my back. He ran his hands along my torso.” 

The charge between them buzzed even stronger. Armie steps closer but he backs away. It’s the same trajectory as before; Armie heeding his hunger and Timothée inviting him into his web. They’ve returned where they’re best at. 

“He played with my nipple and kissed my neck.” Timothée’s back hit the side of the car. “He forced his tongue in my mouth as he kissed me.” 

Armie crowds in his space completely, clutching his jaw with one hand and tilting his face up. “What did you do?” 

“I rejected him. I pushed him away.” Timothée’s breath is leaving him the closer Armie leans down to his mouth. “He wasn’t you.” 

“Good boy.” 

Timothée is Armie’s again even before their lips locked together. 

Their bodies met in the middle then crashed back against the side of the car. Everything they’ve bottled up in their time apart are rushing to escape into the floodgates starting with the kiss. It’s explosively luscious, making them moan in each other’s mouth. Timothée is already arching off the car while Armie grabs the underside of his thigh, lifting it up. There’s a slow grind when Armie rolled his hips forward and the kiss breaks, both of them gasping for air. Armie breathes in on his neck and sucks a bruise right under his jaw. Timothée would’ve fallen on the ground if the door beside him hadn’t been yanked open. 

Armie pushes him to lie on the backseat, and he wastes no time on anything else but getting his pants off, the smell and sight of his steady slick exposed in the air. Growling, Armie pulls it off completely and fits himself inside with him, the door slamming behind. 

“You’ve been playing with yourself.” It wasn’t a question when Armie already got three fingers to the knuckles in his hole. 

Timothée moans lewdly, moving his hips to get it pumping. “I thought of you every time.” 

“Did you use the toys I left you with?” Armie curls his fingers and applies pressure on his prostate. 

“God! Yes, yes, fuck!” Timothée thrashed, his limbs hitting on every side of the car. 

Relentless, Armie grips the base of his dick and thrusts his hand inside. “What did you think of?” 

“You.” It was a struggle to speak when pain and pleasure blurs down his groin. “I fucked myself with the dildos and edged myself with the vibrator just like you did.” Timothée had to stop to shout when Armie jerked him off then trapped his impending release by squeezing his dick again. 

Overstimulated, Timothée’s slick gushed out in squirts on Armie’s forearm. The reaction satisfied him and he dove down, putting his mouth on the hole and pushing his tongue past the rim. 

Armie has some slick trickling down his chin when he comes up. “What else?” 

Timothée’s eyes cross when Armie starts to undo his pants. What he wanted then and what he wants now are one and the same. “Your knot. I fucking miss you filling me up.” He gets on his knees just as Armie is descending on him. 

Confused, he eyes Timothée as he shuffles them on the cramped space of the car, finally getting the hint and sitting on the seat and leaning back. Timothée climbs over his lap and sinks on his dick, the stretch pulling him apart just the way he liked it. 

“I’ve wanted you to knot me again.” 

Timothée rides him on the backseat of the car so frantically that it shakes. Armie bunched up his shirt to reveal his torso, kissing every inch he could and touching those he cannot. They’ve gone at it so intensely that the windows fogged. The nails that scrape along the skin of his back made him arch, and Armie took this to put his mouth on his nipple and sucked on it. Timothée cradles his head on his chest and keeps bouncing on his lap, driven by his relief of having this again and his excitement to feel the knot he missed so much. 

When Armie’s thighs flex, Timothée relaxes his body so they can flip over easier. On his back, Armie puts his legs together and slings it over one shoulder, tilting his body slightly sideways before pounding his cock inside. The angle made Timothée twist and shout, overly stimulated by each drag of the length and the subsequent force of it hitting so deep that it knocked the air out of his lungs. Armie bends down, folding Timothée in half just to press their foreheads together. 

The alpha held his gaze and it stirred Timothée’s core. “You’re mine.” 

Timothée explodes on his stomach, untouched. Armie doesn’t stop even when he straightens up again. Instead, he parts Timothée’s legs and holds him firmly by the hips, thrusting in him so violently that he feels the shock in his bones. Timothée sobs as he’s fucked through his orgasm, but his body has always made room for Armie even if he thought he can’t anymore. The stream of slick from his hole made it easier to pull the rim apart further so Armie’s knot could slip past. 

Armie is back in his face and crashes his mouth on Timothée’s, pushing his tongue inside until the swell of his dick breaches inside and the knot pops, locking them together. Timothée heard white noise and saw stars behind his eyelids from the sheer force of it, his own dick twitching as he felt Armie erupt inside him in steady bursts of come. 

It took them a while before the haze from sex clears. Out of consideration, Armie picks Timothée up and sits them with him on top, Armie leaning heavily against the door as he wraps him in an embrace while his dick keeps them locked together. The windows opened just a bit to let the steam out, then he felt wet wipes cleaning the come off his stomach. 

There’s renewed tenderness in the afterglow now that they’ve aired out everything that they bottled up. Timothée couldn’t find a way to communicate verbally even if he tried, so he started moving his hips to milk on Armie’s leaking knot, kissing his way from his neck to his jaw, his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, then finally his lips. Armie hums at the sensation, rubbing Timothée’s back soothingly. There’s a glint in his eyes when Timothée pulls away to look, then Armie tugs him by the hair so his neck is exposed. His teeth sank on the skin on the side, making him let out a hoarse cry, but the bite only got harder until Timothée thought the skin would break. Only then did Armie release the flesh, then licks and nibbles on the bite for good measure. 

“You’re bitey tonight.” Timothée falls on Armie’s chest, nearly purring with delight as he feels gentle petting on his hair. 

Armie hums, shamelessly admitting to it. 

“You can scent mark me if you’d like.” Timothée offers, then stubbornly nudges on Armie’s hand when the petting stops. 

The strokes returned. Timothée doesn’t even care if Armie answers or not. A scent mark would tell another alpha that he’s already with someone else. It’s as good as advertising that he’s getting laid with the same alpha regularly. Less permanent than a claim, more meaningful than hickeys. It’s all up to Armie if he’d want it.

“Let’s go to your place for that.” 

Timothée’s scent bursts with happiness from hearing the response. Armie dropped a kiss on top of his head when he smelled it. 

Despite his excitement on the idea, Timothée had succumbed to sleep shortly after Armie’s knot came down. He can vaguely recall being wiped clean again before his pants are put back on. Armie shushed him when he tried to get up, stroking his hair until he fell asleep. 

When he woke again, they were in front of his building. Armie bends to scoop him up in his arms, carrying him bridal style and kicking the door shut behind. Timothée lets him know that he’s awake by cupping his jaw and rubbing his thumb over his cheekbone. Armie only responded by kissing the heel of his palm, not putting him down as they ascended the stairs to his floor. Amused but thoroughly pleased with the gesture, Timothée just made himself useful by unlocking the door while still held up as such. 

Armie takes them straight into the bathroom, though he couldn’t stop his head whipping towards the bed where Justin’s smell lingered. It was obvious that there was nothing more that happened except that the other alpha was present in that space, but that doesn’t mean Armie wasn’t massively irritated by it. Timothée chuckles at his reaction as he’s put down on the bathroom floor, pulling Armie by the neck to kiss him. 

“Never again.” Timothée is looking at him in the eyes and sees the delight in Armie’s after he swears on it. 

“Good.” He peels off Timothée’s clothes until he stands naked there. “Go ahead into the shower. I’ll join you shortly.” 

Timothée complies but keeps his gaze on Armie, watching him put his come-soiled boxers and pants to soak while his shirt goes to the hamper. Then, he disappeared through the door, so Timothée had to rely on his ears to know what he’s doing. There’s rustling of sheets and his mattress flopping down carelessly on the bed frame. When the washer door closes and the sound chimes to indicate the start, Timothée smiles at the confirmation that Armie is changing his sheets. 

It’s a silly thing to be giddy about, but there you go. To them, it’s more symbolic of Armie strutting in and confidently reclaiming what’s his. He moves in Timothée’s apartment with certain steps. He knows where to take the laundry detergent from, where the fresh sheets are kept, how many blankets Timothée likes on his bed. 

Armie returns after he’s content with the state of the bed. Timothée doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he’s checking him out as he undresses. He steps into the shower and adjusts the nozzle above their heads. 

“Let’s not pull a stunt like that again.” As opposed to Timothée’s amusement, Armie clearly has lingering agitation over Justin and his overall existence. 

Timothée raised a brow questioningly. “Only if you admit it.” He bargains. 

Confused, Armie asks “Which?” 

“Were you avoiding me?” 

They’re standing under the cold spray of the shower. Timothée tries to play it off by lathering soap all over himself. 

“Yes.”

Everything lighthearted and warm not too long ago is threatening to be flushed down the drain. Timothée wonders if it’ll always be like this. A perfect storm through and through. 

“Why?” Timothée prods. 

Armie copies him by busying himself with cleaning off. “Trouble back home.” 

“Are you in an open marriage?” 

“No asking about my personal life.” 

Huffing, Timothée retorts “It concerns me. I’m the third party.” 

It seemed like Armie could use the reminder. His fingers curled around itself, touching the wedding band still seated snug on his skin. 

After a beat, he answers “No. She doesn’t know.” 

“Say her name.” Timothée demands it. 

Armie actually looked at him like he’s in pain, but he stood his ground. 

“Liz doesn’t know.” The surrender is equally satisfying as it is devastating. “Look-” 

Timothée cuts him off when he makes a move to pull off the wedding ring. 

“Keep it. Wear it from now on.” Timothée takes his hand and laces their fingers together, his own feeling up the smooth ring digging into where they’re joined. He puts his other hand on Armie’s face. “We’d live with the decisions we’ve made.” 

Armie sealed the deal for them. Without thinking, he dives down until Timothée is pressed on the wall, kissing him senselessly. 

The conversation in the shower is evidently the last one they’re having for that night. When they’re ready for bed, they’re much too emotionally drained to return to any of their issues. Even so, it doesn’t stop Armie from seemingly overcompensating. Though they don’t speak a word after, he took over cleaning up Timothée then himself and drying them together. The bed is crisp with new sheets and fluffed with the amount of blankets. Armie drops a kiss to his shoulder and tucks him in. 

Timothée watches him move around again, putting the sheets in the dryer and fetching his clothes to queue. Neither of them bothered with clothes, as is the theme of the flat. Every now and then Armie would still catch a whiff of Justin’s scent, but he’s calmer about it. That doesn’t mean he won’t glower at the spot though. It was quite amusing, now that they’ve arrived here. 

Armie has his phone in his hands as he walks to the bed. Timothée immediately scoots over to him, putting his head on Armie’s lap and enjoying the strokes on his hair. 

“Let’s get some food.” He says, scrolling through their options. 

They’re not even picky about it. There’s Thai food that delivers still past midnight and they chose that. Timothée doesn’t even think he’d eat. He’s content to lie there and live in the bliss of their reunion. He’d enjoy it while he can so once they part he’d have enough of it to get by and water down the charring in his gut. 

While waiting, Armie slides on his side to lie down on the bed. He gathers Timothée in his arms and puts his head on his chest. They both hummed, snuggling closer as Timothée wraps his hand on Armie’s torso and he in turn tightens his embrace on his shoulder. In all the times they’ve been in bed together and enjoyed each other’s bodies, this is by far the most intimate they’ve ever been with each other. There’s no sexual tension pulling at them in the air. They’re not driven by urge or hunger or instincts. It wasn’t the first time they cuddled; naturally they do, especially after a particularly draining round. It is the first time though, that it’s not directly due to sex. They’re so massively relieved to have reconciled that it’s the most palpable scent in the air. 

The doorbell rings some time after. Armie kisses Timothée’s forehead as he untangled them, then chuckles softly when he tries to cling as he gets up. 

“It’s messy to eat. Come.” Armie takes the food to the dining table, peeking inside. 

“I want to lie down.” Timothée grumbles, still bundled up in the blankets. 

Armie considers this. He closes the takeout bags and moves them to the coffee table. “The couch then.” 

Timothée complies, following Armie and straddling his lap as they sit. There’s not an ounce of protest. Armie just opens his arms and adjusts them so he can lean backwards on the armrest while Timothée is between his legs, reclined on his chest. They don’t speak again as they eat, but they interact plenty. It’s for the better, considering how delicate the air around them is, and they’re far too volatile with their words to not break it without meaning to. 

Despite having finished everything, Timothée doesn’t distinctly remember the meal. He’d been more taken by Armie stealing food off his plate and feeding him with his. He doted on him silently, making sure he eats until he cleans off his plate. There’s a massive serving of a mango dessert and they shared that too, though it’s more of Armie feeding it into his mouth as he already refused to move. 

They remained cuddled together on the couch until Timothée’s eyes felt heavy with drowsiness. Armie waits until he’s drifting off before carrying him back to bed. He doesn’t leave immediately, petting Timothée on the head steadily until his eyes shut and sleep takes over. It wasn’t hard, not anymore. Timothée knows Armie would be there when he wakes up. 

It was already light outside when Timothée opened his eyes. Early morning still, seven. Armie is still asleep, spooning him. Timothée’s stretching moved them momentarily, and he became aware of the erection digging to the back of his thigh. It spurred him on, his own desire catching up rapidly as his slick build up and his cock started filling. Timothée turns around to face Armie, feeling him up from the hard lines of his abs to curves of his biceps, then cupping his jaw to trail kisses from his collarbone to his neck, breathing in his heady scent, then moving up to his jaw and cheeks. 

When Armie finally stirs, Timothée touches his dick and puts it on his palm. “Is that for me?” He whispered teasingly, nibbling on his earlobe. 

Armie chuckles lowly then groans when Timothée finally grips on the length and pumps with slow drags. Attentively, his hand finds Timothée’s thigh and strokes it, then hikes up higher to finger his hole as it drips. They touched each other languidly, Armie checking the stretch and working it open when he feels it’s not enough. Timothée wants none of it, crawling up on Armie’s chest and sprawling over him. When the fingers slip out of him, he reaches to guide Armie’s dick inside, then sinks onto it with a breathless groan. 

They’re locked on the mouths, kissing heatedly as Armie’s hands cup his ass to slam him down at a steady pace. Timothée loves every bit of it, threading his fingers in Armie’s hair and guiding him to his jaw, his neck, his shoulders, anywhere he wants. His eagerness is returned by playful kisses and nibbles on his skin, and soon after they would return to each other’s lips, their tongues curling lazily in the same rhythm of their relaxed, easy morning sex. 

Timothée arches his back outwards when he feels his orgasm rising, making room to slip his hand between their stomachs to jerk himself off without stopping the roll of his hips. Armie’s breathing gets more shallow at the sight, his nose buried in his hair and panting as his own release builds up. They’re quiet when they come, only in gasps and pants before they shudder together. Timothée falls on Armie’s chest, boneless and spent, while he’s nearly purring with satisfaction as his hand runs through the curls on Timothée’s head. 

They let sleep take over again. It was but a nap. The clock reads 8:52. Armie is already up and Timothée notices he’s wiped clean, too. 

“Are you staying?” He asks, sitting up. 

Armie barely looks up from his phone when he hums in confirmation. “Until tomorrow.” 

“Noon?” It’s their usual. 

Armie finally stares back at him. “Midnight.” 

It made his heart soar. Sure, their arrangement is placed back on and he’s literally getting paid to do this, but then. _Armie._ Timothée doesn’t need any more persuasion than that. He’s so pathetically attached. 

Armie gives him a smile when the air fills with his joy at the news, making him blush. It earned him a chuckle. “I’m ordering breakfast. What would you like?” 

“Anything will do.” It would. It doesn’t matter at all. 

“Alright.” Armie returns to his phone, nonchalant. He gets up to pour water in a tall glass then brings it to Timothée on the bed. “You need to do groceries.” 

Timothée snorts but keeps drinking. “Yeah well, I’m on a budget” 

Clearly it was the wrong thing to say. Armie winced with guilt.

“Right. About that.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that.” It’s the truth. Timothée feels irritated all of a sudden. “When have you ever seen this flat well-stocked? Never.” 

Armie is unmoved. “Still. You were right. I demanded you to quit a job then avoid you. That’s not…” 

At least he could look ashamed about it. It’s appeasing enough. 

“But there you go.” Timothée puts the glass on the bedside table. He takes Armie’s face in his hand. “And here we are.” 

Armie is sidetracked right away. Timothée feels his thrill rush in his veins. This is his favorite Armie; the one who cannot resist him and does not try to. He closes the gap between them and falls on the bed on top of Timothée, kissing him hungrily. Timothée welcomes him in his embrace, returning his ferocity with each move and drag of his lips. His legs part to fit Armie in between, prepared to take him in if he wanted it, but it doesn’t escalate from their steamy makeout. They seemed content with simply rolling around in bed, trading kisses and nibbles, Armie still on a quest to suck as many bruises on his skin as possible. Timothée welcomes that, too. 

If they’re staying together until midnight the next day, then it’s getting clear that they’re going to live off of delivery. Armie covered them all thoughtlessly even before, happy to just throw away his cash so they never have to leave wherever they’ve decided to hole up and fuck. Which was exactly how the day went. 

Armie indulged Timothée to eat in bed when he’s too lazy to get up. They had waffles, bacon and eggs for breakfast with fruit bowls of mixed berries and tropical blend. Timothée has good enough coffee in his otherwise empty kitchen so they drank that instead. They continued to make out during their meal, until it got to naughtier ranges of food play. There are still fruits left when Armie mounted him on all fours, fucking him from behind and pulling his wrists backwards to keep his torso suspended in the air. 

Truthfully, Timothée had expected them to have a go at it every time they could manage, in which he was equal parts right and wrong. Armie did latch on to him frequently throughout the day, but not all of them sexually charged. Mostly, it’s only to imprint on parts of the flat that either still stinked faintly of Justin or didn’t smell like them yet. It was amusing. 

Their lunch doubled as their early dinner when they only decided on it late in the afternoon. Armie thought to order Mexican food and Timothée added loads of chili to their meal for absolutely no reason. They were tearing up and sweating as they ate, but it had felt like a challenge at that time so neither of them backed out. By the time they finished, they were sniffling and wiping their tears, then broke down in hysterical fits because of the spice numbing their mouths and jaws while their throat and stomach felt constantly heated. 

Timothée got on his knees afterwards, parting Armie’s legs and blowing him on the kitchen floor until he came down his throat. They were in the shower when Armie returned the favor, rimming him and fingering him until he came and squirted. He felt limp after, but it riled Armie up again so he fucked him against the bathroom wall, his thighs locked around Armie’s hips until he came buried all the way in. 

They returned to bed after drying up, but Armie had to get up to get his clothes from the washer and hang it over a chair nearby. Timothée grumbles unhappily until he returns and snuggles with him on the bed. 

Near midnight, Timothée stirs from his sleep to find Armie picking out clothes from his drawers, already dressed in his trousers and shirt. 

“Are we going somewhere?” Timothée pushes himself on his hands to sit up. 

The clothes are brought to the bed and Armie kissed the top of his head. “Yeah, grocery.” 

“I don’t cook.” 

That doesn’t make a very good omega, but Armie only laughed amusedly. 

“Stock up with whatever then.” 

Armie drove them to a 24-hour larger grocery quite far from where Timothée lived. They make an odd pair as he’s in a neon hoodie and gray sweatpants while Armie is in tailored pants and a dress shirt opened at the chest and folded to his elbows. It’s late, and a lot of the people in the grocery are either drunk or teenagers on a midnight hunt for snacks. What mattered was no one seemed to care about them. Armie is at ease, and they could at least interact without looking over their shoulders in paranoia. 

Obviously they’ll never go on dates, as Timothée is Armie’s personal service omega. This is likely the closest to one that they’ll have. Timothée would take it. 

“You should at least get bread.” Armie turns over loaves in his hand, checking the dates. 

Timothée scrunches his nose at the selection. “I don’t want that.” 

“It’s _bread._ ” 

“No, I mean not from here. I can get at the bakery. It’s better.” 

Armie puts it down with a shrug, conceding. 

So far, Armie had loaded up his cart with fruits, yoghurt, milk, spreads, spices. They’re still going, now in easy meals like boxed mac and cheese and canned goods. 

“Just get some pasta rather than noodles.” Armie protests when Timothée begins looking at instant noodles. 

“This is easier.” 

“It has no nutritional value.” 

Timothée gestures to his skinny physique. They glared at each other. 

Armie looks around before stepping into his space, taking the pack out of his hand. “Eat real food.” He mumbles lowly, one hand on his nape with a grip. 

Timothée obeys immediately. 

Pasta is added in their cart, then canned sauces, olive oil, and it goes on from there. Timothée feels like he doesn’t have any reason to not learn how to cook by now.

“If I cook will you eat it?” Timothée dares Armie as they get a bag of flour. 

Armie smiles. “Maybe practice first.” 

Snorting, Timothée snaps “You act picky then go eat my ass.” 

Even with the two of them, it still took them two trips to take everything up to the flat. Timothée has butterflies in his stomach from how silly it had been. It didn’t matter that they hid behind the nighttime and drove far away to fetch groceries. It made him feel warm, so he cherished the moment while it lasted. 

Timothée doesn’t care to unpack everything that night as he sheds his clothes then Armie’s. They kissed on the way to the bed until they fell together, fitting on each other’s body easily. Armie is _still_ feeling bitey, his teeth sinking on Timothée’s shoulder as he thrusts his hips to the hilt. It was intense and steamy in ways that even their more crazed sex hadn’t been. They’re putting more and more into their bond. It’s inevitably going to weigh them down once they part. 

That’s a worry for another time. Timothée wakes up to Armie cooking breakfast for them, making him feel like he’d melt on the spot. It’s nearly noon, but the thought is there. It wasn’t much, just bacon and eggs and some potatoes. Nonetheless, it makes Timothée want to sink on his knees and worship Armie. 

So he did. Armie sits on the chair after their meal, letting Timothée do all the work as he rides him hard until they come. 

Their afternoon was spent on Armie attempting to teach Timothée to cook a pasta dish. It started with carbonara but the first batch turned into an omelette of sorts when the yolk cooked. Timothée still ate it. Armie made aglio e olio, which is honestly what he should’ve started with. 

For the duration of the night, they’re tangled in the bed with fruits and snacks on the bedside, either making out or eating or fucking. Not in that particular order though there was a point when they did it all at once. Armie knotted him again some time later. He didn’t forget to mark Timothée before he left. 

Timothée received seven thousand dollars. It doesn't faze him anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for the wonderful feedback on this fic. I really took out my frustrations on this one ngl


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for leaving comments 🥺 love you all for staying with me. 
> 
> Anyway, kink time.

“Holy shit, Timmy!”

“What?” 

“Oh my fucking God! Josh!” 

“Hey, what’s - Jesus Christ!” 

Timothée glares at Paige and Josh as he puts the uniform over his t-shirt. They’re opening the cafe as is their shift when Paige walks in on him changing and deciding to act like they’re in high school at the sight of his hickeys. 

Josh is clapping like a seal while Paige’s mouth is hanging open. 

“You got laid _laid._ Like, it’s not just sex it’s an adventure.” Josh is so giddy about it that you’d think it was his sex life that had looked so bright. 

Paige is still in a state of shock. “What? You? I finally understand how my teachers felt about hickeys. I mean this is scandalous!” She starts laughing, her disbelief still evident on her face. “I wouldn’t think Justin had it in him.” 

Timothée froze. He hadn’t thought of him the entire time since Armie arrived. He supposed that it is possible that he’d turn up here. If that’s the case, they should know, even just a version of it. 

“No.” Timothée sighs when they both whip around and Josh wolf-whistles at him. 

“Ooh, juicy.” He says, leaning against the wall. 

Paige looked more offended. “What? Aren’t you guys-”

Timothée is not spending one more second under their plummeting respect for him. He does that enough on his own. This one isn’t even his fault. 

“No.” He glares at them until they both close their mouth and wait for him to continue. “He tried to force me to have sex last weekend in his flat. I had my, uh, _friend_ pick me up.” 

“Justin? That _Justin?!_ ” Paige is already furious. 

Even Josh is upset about it, which is comforting. “Shit, Tim, you should report that-”

Slamming his locker shut, Timothée interrupts them and says “I _can’t._ I’m an omega, and we were going out for a month. He invited me over and I went. How’s that gonna fly?” 

“Did he-” Josh clears his throat awkwardly, waving his hand on the area of his chest to neck to indicate the bite marks. 

Well, _that_ one isn’t going to make him look good. “No, it’s someone else.” 

“Why don’t you just go out with him?” Paige asks, like it’s simple. “The sex looks splendid.”

Maybe it is that simple, but only for others. It’s not nearly as easy as one, two, three when the other person is cheating on his wife and pays for the sex he gets. 

“Great sex, we don’t get along.” That’s not a lie. 

Josh nods, understanding. “We can blacklist Justin if you’d like.” 

“No, no need. Maybe just cover for me when he’s there? I just ran away that night. I don’t want to talk.” 

Paige and Josh assured him that they got it. That’s enough. 

Justin had tried to text and call him, but he’d only seen after Armie left. He replied once and told him to never get back in touch with him again and nothing will be known about it. Then blocked the number. If more was said, Timothée certainly didn’t bother knowing. 

An additional trauma aside, Timothée’s life had returned to a semblance of contentment. Sure, it’s morally crooked, but then he gets _Armie._ He thinks of the alpha and his chest blooms warmer than how heavy his stomach drops. Everything wrong about them that he’d previously beaten himself up over had now reduced to mere nuances; inconveniences that interrupt him but otherwise can live with. 

All cowers in comparison tremendously with the way Armie lights his soul on fire. He’d felt so alive than he’d ever been in years during their reconciliation. Armie had yearned for him during their time apart, furious and jealous when he found Timothée with another, relieved and _happy_ when they returned to each other. It was all he’d ever wanted. Now, Armie appears to be paying to stay with him. Timothée _lives_ for it. 

The arrangement felt like it’d been through a reset. Armie went to see him in his flat on Tuesday night, then sent a hotel room on Wednesday. The sex is spectacular. The mark seems to inspire a new level of possessiveness from Armie that he permanently appears to want to attach himself to Timothée, sexual or not. He encouraged it, made Armie want and want then gives all at once that he gets drunk on it. The sheer power Timothée has over the alpha is his own personal reward. 

Naturally, threats from an omega aren’t really taken seriously. Justin showed up to the cafe on Friday, but Josh got him by the arm and swept him to the break room. Paige dealt with him, telling Justin to leave Timothée alone. There was begging and negotiation, but if there’s anyone who knew how to put someone in their place it would be Paige. 

“So if I get Timothée out here, and we all talk like the good ol’ times when I helped you - God, that’s on me, I fucking helped you - you can look at us three in the eyes and say you did not try to force yourself on him?” 

“We were already going out! And he agreed to come to my apartment! Like, what the fuck?!” 

Josh’s eye twitched with the reasoning. He glanced over at Timothée as they sat on the floor. “Fuck, I knew he’s dumb in the rich kid type of way, but like _wow._ ” 

Timothée snorted. “You have _no_ idea. He thought Greeks are Asian.” 

Josh grimaced. “His parents paid loads for college and this is what they get?” 

“His dad should’ve just pulled out, honestly.” 

They snorted together as they laughed. Paige knocked on the door shortly after, telling them Justin had gone because she threatened to expose him to his school sexual harassment help desk. It wasn’t the perfect solution, but Timothée has long been used to adjusting to it. It’s enough for him to be able to put that behind him. 

Armie said he had a business trip that weekend, sending him his compensation as a result. Timothée just might be a tad dismayed, but the explanation without being asked was satisfying. 

Instead, Timothée used his free time trying out recipes for beginners. From Tasty, because they make it look easy and the videos are cute. He started with breakfast food because apparently that’s the simplest to prepare. Bacon and eggs seemed pretty straightforward, but he overcooked the eggs and somehow couldn’t get the bacon to be crispy. So he ate a quite unsatisfying breakfast that day. 

There’s a certain amount of fun from having prepared your own meal, Timothée realized. It wasn’t that he never liked it, he just couldn’t afford to waste ingredients so he never got into it. He tried making pancakes and found out he’d been too impatient, flipping them too soon and breaking it. There’s just him anyway so he didn’t mind. 

When he’s sure that Pauline has gotten off of work, Timothée messaged her that he’s sending over money. It took a few hours before she called him. 

_“Are you sure you’re not starving yourself, sending all that money?”_ Pauline hesitantly asks, having just arrived from dinner with her colleagues. 

It was four thousand dollars, and he has a kitchen full of groceries. Not a problem at all. 

_“No, silly. I moved from the previous bartending place. This one has better everything.”_ Timothée hates lying so he would settle on omission. It’s one thing he wishes he never gets used to. 

Pauline hums, considering. _“I better not find you skinnier than the last time I saw you!”_

It made Timothée laugh. He wonders when he’ll see his family again. _“I don’t think I can change that, though. I eat and get nothing.”_

_“Now shut up. I hate people with fast metabolism.”_

Timothée laughs still. Pauline is crazy about fitness, and then there’s him who can’t finish a glass of water without being threatened by half of the family. Most of what Timothée had sent so far went to their mother and grandmother, either for gardening or the nursing fees. It felt good, knowing their lives aren’t so filled with misery and day-to-day survival. 

_“You know, in a bit, I think I can bring you home.”_ Pauline mused. _“Maybe next year? You can do part time then university, like I did before.”_

It was a good thought. Even Timothée doesn’t have the heart to shoot that down. It’s very telling, though. Leaving Armie behind filled him with dread more than anything. 

_“Sounds good.”_ Timothée replies with a cheerful tone. _“Think you’re ready to move back in with me and fight over the bathroom?”_

Pauline laughs heartily through the line. _“Oh, I’ll win, for sure.”_ She gloats. _“But seriously, nursing sounds good. I think you’re going to do well.”_

_“Yeah, I don’t know. I’m sort of considering teaching now.”_ If he would return to university, Timothée does think he’d switch majors. 

_“Really? You’re not a very good influence though. You got annoyed with Adrian when we were kids and buried his car toy.”_

They guffaw at the memory. Timothée hadn’t been good with kids, and they were kids themselves then. Him majoring in education would truly be very interesting. 

The initial thrill of a cooking journey had worn off pretty quickly for Timothée, so he just returned to his usual toast with butter and jam. He still does a bit of translation here and there, a little something he can do on the side since his schedule has freed up considerably. This also allowed him to pick up more demanding ones, which paid him better, since he has more time to work on it as compared to before when he can only spare a few hours a day and rushed at best. Sometimes, he comes across language nuances that he finds noteworthy, then writes it down for Elisse when they get there. 

Armie hadn’t shown up until Thursday night, looking overly tired that he chose to settle with making out first before napping until it’s well into the night. Timothée made sure to be there when he woke, and it pleased Armie visibly, his smile spreading on his face while his eyes lit up. They peeled each other’s clothes off slowly and took their time with each other, dragging out the experience until the need to come couldn’t be helped anymore. Armie had to leave by midnight, but not until Timothée had gone to sleep. 

It was a pretty regular thing, even though not as extensive as consecutive nights or the entire weekend like their first month had been. Timothée gets the impression that he’s being more careful, the excuses probably not working as well as it used to. There are still some moments that he would wonder; how Armie’s marriage is going, what Elizabeth - Liz - is thinking about it. Timothée doesn’t ever dare to imagine a divorce, because he won’t be able to help but go down the road of imagining Armie choosing him. It’s not a happy ending if he’s breaking apart a marriage. 

In the end, he doesn’t think about it at all. Timothée would welcome Armie as he comes, would accept what he gives, and they would just have to do. He’s happy to turn a blind eye on his personal life if it meant he could bask under the joy that he gets from their bond and indulging in it. 

Timothée hadn’t dared to read too much into things, because the last time he did, he drove them apart and ran off with another alpha until it blew up to his face. This time, things are going in the opposite direction. Armie is far from avoiding him. Aside from consistently meeting with him, Armie would also be more open, never about the details of his life, but in other ways. The ones that matter. He’d always been an attentive lover, always one for an aftercare, ignoring altogether Timothée’s explicit permission from before their break that it’s quite alright if he leaves without cleaning them up. It’s not that he’s doing a different thing now, it’s just how he does it. 

They would be coming down from an intense round and Armie would fetch a towel to wipe Timothée with. Usually, it only extended until the job was done. Now, Timothée would catch him lingering a second too long, staring a little too revering. It confuses him as much as it thrills him. 

Other times, Armie would be content to just lay there and snuggle or make out. It’s nothing new. They’ve done all of it before. It’s just disorienting how Armie would randomly drop kisses on Timothée’s head, or peck on his cheek or lips, or pull him in a hug while they stand in the kitchen or the bathroom. 

It was easier to blame it all on the scent mark and leave it at that. Only alphas can do that, because their biology really allows them to be as territorial as they want. Timothée would never understand if it made a difference since he can't really tell, but as far as he knows it’s only as good as an ‘off limits’ sign over his his to other alphas. If Armie enjoys that and results in him getting coddled throughout their time, then he’ll take it. 

In truth, he’s starting to worry. Timothée wonders where their dance with fire would take them; how further in they would huddle for the warmth it brings until the flames engulfs them whole. The trail they’re taking this arrangement to just gets more and more treacherous as they go, and it’s their own making. Timothée would still go down this road, even if he already sees the end and it’s him shattered to pieces. His experience with Armie had so far only felt like it had been worth staking his life for. He knows he’d do it all again in a heartbeat. 

That couldn’t say a lot of good things about him, but should anyone want the truth, then there it is

Some time past their first month back together, Armie had sent him a message to meet Tuesday right when his shift is over after he passed up on a weekend due to work. That’s a first, considering that he gets off at four and it’s still office hours in the corporate world. Well, generally. He doesn’t really know any other six figure type of guy. 

It also meant that Armie would be going to his flat in broad daylight. They’d done it before, of course, but never when they started back up again. Armie would arrive at night, then leave when it’s still dark out. He’s more careful, as Timothée noted before. 

All of it goes out the window the moment they see each other. Armie’s car is parked right outside the building. Timothée stops in front of him, his skin already buzzing. Looking up to his floor, he glances back to the tinted window, unable to see Armie but knows he’s watching, then runs to his flat. He holds his thrilled laughter when he sees the reflection on the glass that Armie climbed out of the car, smelling just as thrilled and looking like it. Timothée controls his breathing so he can keep up his pace, though the adrenaline seems to have him covered the moment he hears the rush of steps coming after him in the stairs. 

This time, without too much of a head start, Armie caught Timothée on the landing of his floor, grabbing him by the waist and pressing him to the wall. 

“Got you,” Armie growls with a bite to his neck, then kisses him until their heads swim with it. 

Timothée moans, his head falling back when he returns on his neck. “ _Armie,_ ” he pants out as he threads his fingers through the alpha’s hair. 

“Let’s go in,” Armie steals one more kiss before stepping away, chuckling. 

There’s a slap on his ass as they walk to his door. Timothée laughs and Armie squeezes the flesh, making him squirm. He turns and pushes Armie on the wall, running his hands all over his torso and licking his neck. 

“Stop,” he whispers but kisses Armie on the lips anyway. 

Armie nods, returning his smile and pecking Timothée on the nose. They turned to the door, but Armie kept himself attached with an arm looped around his waist. Timothée pulls him inside, giggling, while Armie’s hands fix on his waist to bend down in a kiss. 

“When does your blocker wear off?” Armie asks curiously, nosing on his neck. 

“In two hours, I think.” Timothée looks over to the clock. “Yeah, at six.” 

“I wish I could smell you.” 

“You mark me regularly.” 

Armie smirks. “We should do that again.” 

Timothée laughs then whines when Armie walks towards the kitchen. Launching himself, he hangs off of the alpha’s back, then feels a light kiss on his knuckles wrapped around his neck. 

“Are you cooking?” Timothée asks, back-hugging him as he fiddles around. 

“I should _._ I bet you haven’t eaten from your shift.” 

“We can order in.” 

Armie snorts. “ _You_ can, because you don’t put on weight.” 

Timothée stretches his arm out, inspecting it. “Is that what it’s about?” 

There’s a visible drop from the meager flesh on him after their time apart. It was one on the first thing that Armie fussed over when they resumed. There’s guilt in him too, but he never asked. They never talk about what they’ve both done to themselves during the interlude. Timothée has a hunch that it’s better left unsaid, for the two of them. 

Bending slightly, Armie kisses on his forearm then puts the pan on the stove. “Yes.” 

The discussion ends there. They’ve gotten better with shutting up when something is shaping into an argument. Timothée sits on the counter and lets Armie make a sandwich. He goes on his phone and replies to a message from Pauline, then another from Saoirse. Pauline also sends pictures and clips from their countryside home, courtesy of the nurse. They’re usually the garden patch or freshly baked goods, their grandmother knitting or their mother picking vegetables she grew. Timothée told Pauline that they should get a pet, maybe a cat so it cleans after itself. It was considered. 

Armie never asks, just as he demands to never be asked about his personal life. It’s not a secret though. Timothée is generally careless about the details of his life, simply because he believes it can’t be helped. They’re always in his flat anyway. The information is just always bound to spill out. 

“You’re getting a cat?” Armie asks, seeing him scroll through pictures when he puts the plate of sandwich down. 

“No, for my mom and grandma, but they’re knitting and gardening already.” Timothée replies absently, picking up the food and biting into it. 

Armie hums, smiling. “Cats will mess up a garden. And also, dead animals all the time.” 

Horrified, Timothée asks “What?” 

“Yeah, like rats, sometimes birds. If you don’t take it, they’ll find bigger ones to bring you.” 

“My grandma would faint.” 

“Then do reconsider.” 

They didn’t wait until the scent blockers wore off. When they finished eating, Armie already began peeling his clothes off one by one. Timothée let him, stroking Armie’s hair and face as he went down to push his pants down. He watched from the bed as Armie stripped his own clothes, keeping their eyes locked until they’re equally naked. Armie crawled over him, kissing a trail from his core up to his chest then his neck. Timothée arched off, wrapping his legs around his waist and pulling him into a kiss. 

The intent was clear based on the tenderness that Armie handled everything. It’s always like this when he’s marking; slow and gentle. Timothée knows it’s not overly a big deal; just leaving scent all over to deter other alphas. It still makes him ache. He can only wonder if it’ll be like this with others, if they’ll treat him as carefully as Armie does, because to think of Armie doing this to him in the far future is only a weight in his gut. They’ll never have this, not outside the arrangement. 

“Stay with me.” Armie kissed his cheek, waiting for Timothée to regard him before slowly sinking inside. 

The marking is done. Timothée thinks Armie does it so he won’t accept any less. It’s ridiculous. Any other would be settling if it’s not him. 

Timothée cupped Armie’s face, kissing him as he thrusts inside. “I _am_ with you.” He told him, then brought him to his neck, encouraging a bite. 

They kept at it sensually, solemnly, locking their gaze on each other if they’re not latched together on the mouth. It was quiet and slow, and every second burned itself in Timothée’s memory that he’s certain he could revisit it as vividly as he felt at the moment. 

Armie doesn’t always knot him when they’re marking, as it can be too much. Timothée still felt as intensely when the spasms in him were followed by the spurts of Armie’s release, then his own ripping out of him with a full body shudder. Armie gathered him in his arms dutifully. Timothée would wake up in his arms, that much, he knows. 

When he regains consciousness some time later, his head is on Armie’s chest, his hand steadily petting the mop of his hair. He closed his eyes again, enjoying the sensation. Armie can always tell the moment he wakes even if he makes no move to indicate it. 

“What are you doing this weekend?” He asks. 

Timothée opens his eyes at the question. He turns his head to face Armie. “Class with Elisse on Saturday.” 

Armie looks unsure. “Can you skip?” 

“Why?” He’s done it before, on their first month when Armie would want the entire weekend. 

“I’ll take us to Long Island.” 

Perking up, Timothée pushes himself on his hands to look at him. “Like, a getaway?” 

Armie nods, brushing his hair away from his face. “I’ll pick you up Friday night.” 

“Until?” 

“Monday midnight, if you’ll give it.” 

“I’ll give it.” 

They smile at each other, both excited and giddy about the plan. 

“Good.” Armie closes his eyes automatically when Timothée descends on him, kissing frantically and climbing him. 

It inevitably leads to sex; more playful and light than the first round. Timothée rides him initially, then gets flipped on the bed so Armie is on top, until it escalates to them fucking to get the upperhand, giggling at every attempt then kissing and biting in between. 

When Armie left that night, Timothée walked him to his car. They didn’t dare to touch, but it’s clear they’re dying to. It was satisfying to know that the alpha is driving away with the same longing. Armie’s desire for him hasn’t changed. Timothée goes to sleep that night with a smile on his face. 

It was purely coincidental when Justin walked into the cafe and Timothée was there. Technically, he does come back, although rarely when it’s his shift. He probably thought that Timothée wasn’t in when he’s wiping tables. 

“Look, can I just get coffee in peace? I’m ordering for my group.” Justin groused by the register, showing the orders on his phone. 

Paige stared at him, unimpressed. Josh was wide-eyed by the machine, and because he’s an overall terrible actor, gave away the fact that Timothée was there when he immediately whipped his head to his direction. 

Timothée sighed, then minded his own business. Nothing’s happening anyway. Let the guy buy his group some coffee. It’s still sales.

When Paige and Josh were sure that Timothée didn’t care, they took the orders and got to work. It made him feel bad for hiding at the far back when they could use some help. It was a group order, six coffees and a bunch of pastries and sandwiches. Justin would likely ask for help to load them in a cab. 

Taking a deep breath, Timothée walked to the bar without looking at anyone but the register, packing the cookies and crepes while Paige heated the sandwiches. Everyone was frozen when he appeared. 

“Josh, the milk.” Timothée snapped, jutting his chin as he folded the bags of desserts. 

Josh yelped, catching the slip with a cloth. Paige turned then bit her lips, awkward and mortified. Suddenly, heating sandwiches felt too long. The entire ordeal was excruciating. 

Justin is never known to them as someone bright, but he finds new lows every time. 

“You’re _marked_ by an alpha.” He stared at Timothée, offended. “It’s just been a month.” 

Sputtering, Josh and Paige faced Justin, ready to attack him and tell him off. Timothée beat them to it. 

“Yeah, cool guy. He stops when I say no.” He slid the bags over then helped with the drinks. 

The three of them agreed they’d rather a white middle-aged woman demand to talk to the manager than to go through that again. Josh was the one to help Justin, glowering and scoffing at him for literally everything. 

“Who’s this guy you’re seeing?” Paige poked at him while they’re preparing to leave after their shift. 

Timothée glanced at his coworkers who looked back at him expectantly. “We’re not dating.” 

“So like it’s really just casual?” Josh asked. 

Timothée shrugged. That’s not something he thought about anymore. It doesn’t matter. The week is over. Armie will pick him up later at his flat and they’ll spend the weekend together. 

“Yup.” 

“You’re not catching feelings?” 

“Nope. Bye.” Timothée bolted out of the cafe, unprepared for that discussion. 

There’s already enough weight in their arrangement as it is. Feelings aren’t something that they can afford. They only concern themselves with the here and now. It’s how they keep each other. 

When Timothée gets to his building, Armie is already waiting for him at his door. Smiling, he stops at his landing to stare at the alpha who’s on his phone, scrolling. The scent blockers are still in effect so Armie can’t tell. Timothée waits until he gets conscious of the eyes on him, then turns his head to Timothée’s direction. Strutting, he closes the distance between them; Armie opening his arms automatically as Timothée prepares to jump in his embrace. 

“You’re early.” Timothée is lifted off the ground, held up by Armie with a grip on his waist. 

Armie shakes his head. “I’m on time.” 

Well, he did say he’d pick Timothée up after his shift. They smiled at each other before kissing soundly. 

“I still need to pack.” 

“Pack the toys, too.” 

They exchanged looks. Packing looks like it would delay them by a couple of hours. 

When they go in, they at least have the good sense to pretend that it’s not going to where they know it is. Armie helped himself to fetching some snacks, taking some fruits out of the fridge and rinsing them. Timothée isn’t really wondering what to bring, since it’s obvious that they won’t be clothed all that much, but he’d like to tease. 

“What would you like to see me in?” 

“Nothing at all.” 

“Really? So we’re crossing out lingerie kink?” 

“I mean, if you want.” 

They both stopped on their tracks to stare at each other, unsure if the other meant it while their willingness depends on the reaction. 

“I mean, I won’t mind.” 

It’s getting ridiculous. Armie licked his lips, more nervous than anything else. 

“I guess we could try.” 

It’s how, should anyone even ask, they ended up in a lingerie boutique on their way to Long Island. Timothée’s face burns the moment they pull up the store, while Armie is a combination of confused excitement that only he can pull off. 

Armie doesn’t turn off the engine even when he’s parked. “Are you feeling it?” 

Mortified, Timothée puts his face in his hands. “We should’ve ordered this online.” 

“Yeah, we should’ve.” 

They’re silent for a moment, both of them contemplating the decision. 

“But like, hypothetically.” Timothée suddenly says, because he _is_ curious. “What’s it gonna be? Like, stockings? Lace?” 

Armie’s eyebrows are flying up to his hairline. “Sounds good. Black would look good on you, I bet.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah, dark hair, pale skin.” 

Timothée swallows. He has seen lingeries before, when he was looking for ways to spice things up. It wasn’t something that held his attention then, but now that they’re here…

“We could just, like, go in.” Timothée ducks to check the store. 

Armie nods in agreement. “Yeah, yeah, totally. We don’t have to get anything.” 

But they did. They went in and were assisted by a saleslady, and that alone would have gotten Timothée to die of embarrassment. Armie didn’t immediately respond, waiting for him to consent or ask to leave. The consideration made Timothée want to proceed because he’s stubborn like that. Clearly, Armie had reservations and the saleslady can tell, but he stalked right to the selections and asked about the fit. 

The saleslady, Mara, took one long look at him and gave a pair of stockings to try on. Armie’s scent spiked with interest, making his flush even harder. Timothée took the stockings and went to fitting, but it’s only up on his calves when he said it’s too tight. A new pair was passed to him; sheer black with laces on the end along with suspenders with laces to match. He knew instantly that Armie picked that one out. 

The fit was perfect, and despite his overall lack of fat, his thighs and shins were filled out quite sufficiently. It made him unbelievably shy just to stand there and look at himself, and based on how Armie smelled he’s increasingly getting worried while he waited. It’s not that they’re ugly, but Timothée didn’t really grow up loving his body to feel like wearing something like this. It felt ridiculous. 

“Hey, it’s alright.” Armie mumbled from outside the stall, comforting when he smelled the distress. 

Timothée _definitely_ wanted to then. He’s so irrationally inclined to disagree with Armie that it’s gotten him to countless absurd scenarios. Maybe he could show it, just so they can both agree that it’s silly and forget this ever happened. 

“You know what, see for yourself.” Timothée’s face had been burning the whole time. It turned out, it could still get worse. 

There’s an exchange outside; Armie asking if he could go in, and Mara saying he could. She’d even leave if they want some privacy. Considerate as always, Armie told her to not stray too far, just in case Timothée backed out. 

God, Armie was so nice to him that if he ended up liking what he saw, Timothée knew he would endure wearing it. 

Armie tapped on the door lightly, still giving Timothée all the chances to change his mind and drag them out of the store. He unlocked, then tugged slightly so it’s ajar. Tentatively, Armie stepped in, not looking yet until he’s fully inside and the door was shut behind him. 

The change in his scent came so fast. Armie went from worried to absolutely stunned. It made Timothée preen; of course it would. There’s nothing else that could keep him going like Armie’s approval and pleasure. 

Feeling less insecure about how he looked, Timothée gave a slow spin. “You still think this is a good idea?” 

If it hadn’t been for Armie’s practiced self-control, they’d probably get themselves thrown out of the store. All of the blue in his eyes were swallowed as his pupils dilated, his pants tenting evidently at the sight. 

“Yeah,” he answered breathlessly. “All up to you in the end.” 

Timothée made up his mind, if he could get Armie to react this way. “It could work, right?” He lifted a thigh to slightly accentuate the wrap of the stockings all around his legs. 

Armie took a deep breath before closing the gap between them. He put a hand around Timothée’s neck then slammed their lips together. It was hungry and frantic that he felt limp, but Armie forced him to stay on his feet while he worked the suspenders off, then hooking a hand under his thigh to peel the stockings. 

“Not here.” He whispered to his ears once the lingerie was removed. 

They left with two more pairs apart from the ones he tried. Armie was so riled up that they’re speeding as they go. Timothée didn’t dwell so much on his body image issues, not when the arousal rolled off in waves from the alpha. 

The cabin Armie took them to is most importantly secluded. Every other detail can be inspected later. Timothée is practically stripped completely at the doorstep, their bags forgotten on the floor as Armie crowds him to the wall then gets on his knees, swallowing him down while his fingers work to stretch his hole. 

“Fuck! Armie,” he moans and thrashes, knowing full well he’s being stimulated to come right away. 

Humming, Armie keeps on bobbing his head up and down the length of his dick. His fingers curl and pump furiously inside his hole, the steady flow of slick making it easier to go as deep as needed. Timothée feels too weak against the onslaught of the sensations he’s being put through that he tries to squirm away, but Armie is relentless. He keeps his fingers inside and presses directly against his prostate that he yelps, just at the exact time that he’s taken all the way to the hilt and then once more over. Helpless, Timothée comes with a shout, sliding down to the floor. 

They barely took a break from there. Once limp from the orgasm, Timothée was taken to the couch where Armie fucked him with his ass in the air and face down on the leather. It was hard and fast, with barely any finesse to it since it’s clear they’re just taking the edge off from the lingerie boutique. Armie came inside, emptying himself with a long groan. 

It felt good to get that out of the way. They stayed snuggled on the massive couch until they came down from the rush. Timothée turned inside Armie’s embrace and kissed a trail from his neck to his jaw until the alpha smiled and put their lips together. They made out lazily while wrapped in each other, content to simply feel each other up as they lay down. 

Armie was the first to get up between them, fetching the bags from the doorstep and bringing them in. Timothée stood up too, opening the pocket of his bag where he knew the plug was in and then slipped it in him, making Armie watch. 

Chuckling darkly, Armie said “Food first. It’s going to be a long night.” 

He turned away from the couch, taking the grocery bag with him as he walked straight to the kitchen. While he busied himself with preparing to cook their meal, Timothée pried the shopping bag open as quietly as he could. It was a challenge to stop the wrapper from rustling, so he just timed it right when Armie was fiddling with something that made noise. Hidden by the back of the couch, Timothée wore the same black stocking that Armie picked out in the boutique, this time wearing the g-string that came with it. It was impossible to stop his scent from communicating his embarrassment, so he stood up before Armie could go and check. 

Timothée made it to the kitchen before Armie turned to face him. The reaction was even better than it had been back in the store now that they’re in private. Armie put everything down to pounce him, but Timothée held a hand up. 

“Food first, right?” He reminded him, feeling bolder with the knowledge that Armie was rapidly getting turned on by the sight. “I’ll help you prepare.” 

It was clear that Timothée won’t let Armie do anything, and the alpha would comply. Of course he would. It made Timothée feel greedy with power. It’s rare for him to ever get to edge Armie, as the alpha’s pleasure was as good as his own, but this didn’t even require him to do anything but wear naughty underwear. Timothée paraded himself all around the spacious kitchen, confident that Armie won’t touch him and thrilled to put on a display. 

Dinner was such a sexually charged affair that it’s a wonder that they even got through. Armie hadn’t bothered to put his clothes back, so his dick just stood between his legs and curved up to his stomach with how hard it was. Timothée did his best to ignore it, but the amount of slick dripping between his thighs was already telling of how affected he was. 

They didn’t bother to put the plates away. Timothée stood up and asked Armie where the bedroom was, except they’re doing it while he walked in front. Armie was left to trail behind him as he gave the directions. It was even better because it’s locked, so Armie had to lead him to where the keys were kept then back, finally opening the door. Then, Timothée asked where the light was, then the linens so he could put the sheets on the massive bed, all the while making Armie stand from a distance and watch every move. 

Climbing on the bed, Timothée sat and spread his legs. “Was this a good idea?” 

Armie understood the permission then pounced. Initially, Timothée thought it would be wild and frantic, but Armie surprised him by worshipping his body from his ankles to his neck, taking his time to appreciate the result of their curiosity. When he finally sank inside, Armie flipped them over so Timothée would be on top. Getting the message, he braced his legs on each side so the stockings were in full view, then bounced himself on Armie’s dick. 

It was explosively hot, even made better by the fact that neither of them expected it to work. Armie was so consumed by his arousal that he popped a knot. It was an automatic response for Timothée to accept what he got from the alpha, his slick gushing out and his rim parting to let the swell in further, locking them. 

“Is this the weekend to play a kink roulette?” Timothée asked while they’re waiting for the knot to come down, only half meaning it. 

Armie tilted his head, thinking. “Do we still have some left to try?” 

Timothée shrugged, unsure. 

With the way that they started the weekend with a literal lingerie shopping, they should’ve known better. It was the kinkiest weekend of Timothée’s life. Of course, it’s also his first kinky weekend getaway, but he’d never once thought that he’d get to that point. All his previous partners had been equally young and inexperienced, so the sex was so all over the place. Obviously, it’s unfair to compare them to this, but no one can’t fault him for taking the time to appreciate. 

Armie woke him up some time at dawn with a caress on his stockings-clad thigh. Timothée caught up just in time to hook his legs over Armie’s shoulders as he dove to rim him in earnest.

“You’re energetic today.” Timothée teased when Armie positioned himself directly to his hole, having just finished playing with it. 

Sheathing himself in, Armie kept his legs over his shoulders and ran his hands over his thighs, knees and calves, groaning. “You’re a sight.” 

The sex was just as frenzied as it was revering. Armie evidently enjoyed accessorizing him if this was anything to go by, and the look of his skin adorned made him pause like he’s proud of his work. To Timothée, it hardly mattered. He felt good above all when Armie was reduced to his knees with desire for him. They’d fed their addiction to each other until it consumed them. 

When Armie took the underside of his thigh to push it forward, he kissed Timothée’s knee. Timothée loved that; encouraged it further by folding himself in half so he could graze his toes on the expanse of Armie’s torso. He got the reaction he wanted. Growling, Armie pounded in him as he took his cock, squeezing it hard until he thrashed. Armie had been relentless from there; slamming just right on the spot but trapping Timothée’s bodily reaction until his own orgasm was released, then only then did he let go of the pressure. Timothée came with a shout. 

Timothée has long forgotten when he stopped questioning how Armie could be with him for consecutive nights or an entire weekend. He’s understood the rule of never asking about personal lives very well at this point. It was necessary. He’d learned to be grateful for the temporary pleasure and thrill of enjoying each other’s bodies. 

The cabin was situated within a massive gated yard, with an outdoor pool and a view to the beach if you climbed to the attic. They spent the weekend making the best of it. 

It was a stupid quip, but they did end up on a kink roulette. Armie had fucked him in the shower just as they were cleaning up. There was food sex during dessert that had seen Timothée lying on the kitchen table with a vibrator in his ass. They’d spent a better part of the night edging while Timothée was restrained and blindfolded, forced to stop himself from coming on his own without the help of a cock ring. He failed that one spectacularly when he came during foreplay. Armie had flipped his roped body over and spanked him until he regained an erection, then started over again. All of which, they’d done before, but apparently some others they just haven’t done because of context. 

There’s an outdoor lounge area by the pool. Timothée had the idea to go swimming one afternoon since the weather looked nice. They didn’t last very long with skinny dipping. 

Timothée was on all fours by the edge of the pool while Armie was still submerged in water, rimming and fingering him until his slick flowed. 

“Shit! Oh - oh my - wait, fuck!” He was practically incoherent with the way that Armie had played with him, but he alpha only hummed with his tongue buried in his hole, sending a thrum throughout his body. 

Collapsing on the floor, Timothée squirmed and tried to crawl away, but Armie suddenly pulled himself out of water, mounting him. 

“You’re ready,” he growled in his ear, covering his lithe physique with the alpha’s broad one, then slipped in. 

They were fucking _outdoors._ God, Timothée’s brain felt like it was glitching with how undecided he felt about it. Anyone could just stray, but then they’re in an isolated part of the town, yet just the mere thought of being out in the open had shame burning deep in him that his face had been on fire the entire time. 

The stone by the poolside chafed his skin, so Armie picked him up and moved them on the sunbed. It was better for him; Armie lying on it while Timothée lay on him, chest to back, legs spread wide open. The increased exposure made him curl into himself, but the thrusts he received jolted his limbs apart. Armie reached for his dick and got him off. After coming, Timothée had lain naked and offered towards the sky, Armie bringing himself to his own release with his continued pounding from the bed. 

They argued about it over dinner. 

“Anyone could’ve just seen us!” Timothée chugged his water to make up for how much he was sweating from the thought of it. 

Huffing, Armie snapped “You wanted to swim _naked._ ” 

Okay, it was his idea, but still. “Yeah, swim! You fucked me wide open out in the clearing!” 

“So you hated it? Did you feel that I pressured you?” Armie looked at him questioningly with a flat tone. He’s even a tad worried. 

“I - no! That’s no the point-”

Timothée was fucked out of his mind back there. The sex itself had never been bad, honestly. 

“So it _was_ good for you, too?” 

_Too._ Armie liked it. Timothée felt derailed about that. “I said that’s _not_ the point.” 

Armie had enough of the argument. He pushed out of his chair and dragged Timothée by the hair out of his. They weren’t new in angry sex, but they haven’t tried angry sex facing the window. That was, well.. Yeah, anyway. 

If they don’t hold a conversation, Armie and Timothée seem to get along perfectly. They’re just way too different as people, but their sexual attraction makes up for that. An entire weekend of blindingly hot and filthy sex is just right. That’s their tried and tested way, so they do that. 

Between the two of them, Armie took care of most things all the time. He would clean up when Timothée was absolutely spent on whatever surface they ended up on. He prepared their food; just quick ones like sandwiches or toasts. Timothée would get the dishes so he’s useful. He’d also clean off Armie in the shower. Other than that, he can just sit still and look pretty. 

Timothée had prepped and played with himself on the bed as Armie watched until he came, then made to work himself on the alpha’s dick on his limp legs. As payback, Timothée rode Armie on the couch another time, then pressed a vibrator right under the alpha’s dick as it disappeared in his hole, and just above his balls. That was memorable; Armie’s knot swelling but unable to release as Timothée withdrew all sensation just as he was going to lock. 

The kink roulette became a score board. Timothée was made to take Armie’s dick alongside the smaller vibrator, then fucked like that until he was in tears. To retaliate, Timothée tied Armie on the bed and had his way with him, surprising the alpha by rimming him while he jerked him off, blindfolded him then only kissed and touched him without playing with anything on his crotch, fed him his own cock until he came. That was one of the rare times that Armie panted with sheer exhaustion during sex, yet Timothée still made him knot and milked it. 

They were supposed to put on some trunks and a shirt to stroll to the beach until sunset when Armie’s eyes lingered on his reflection on the massive mirror on the wall. In truth, Timothée expected shore sex or something. What he got was getting fucked standing up, his back on Armie’s chest, right in front of the mirror. 

It was better _and_ worse than outdoor sex. At least there’s no chance of getting walked in on, but they get to watch _everything._ It was new, and the sight of Armie’s hips pounding inside him made his head swim with how turned on he was. Yet, there he was. Timothée didn’t keep mirrors around to get to inspect himself to this extent, and it was a lot. It was a different body issue than the one the lingeries inspired out of him. 

“Look at you,” Armie gripped his jaw to force him to watch. 

Instinctively, Timothée squirmed away to hide. His face burned so hotly and he closed his eyes in humiliation. 

“ _Watch,”_ Armie growled this time. 

Timothée was helpless against the blunt command. He opened his eyes, then immediately flitted to watch Armie instead. It was different to seeing him face to face, though similarly feral and crazed. 

Armie chuckled darkly when his knees began to buckle. “Do you see now?”

The alpha waited until he gave a nod. 

“You’re fucking _beautiful._ ” 

Timothée whimpered weakly, unable to categorize the emotions that rose in him from that compliment. 

They had one actual break on Sunday night when Pauline unexpectedly called. They both looked at each other in panic, which was hilarious. Armie fumbled and felt the need to cover up, bringing the throw pillow to cover his dick as they sat on the couch. 

Timothée was mortified, following Armie’s lead and yanking the blanket they used. They’re nearly crying and laughing when he answers the call, contemplating if he should move away but deciding against it when they speak French and won’t be understood anyway. 

_“Hey, what’s up?”_

_“Ah, good news only. Mom is looking into opening a business; potted house plants and flowers. Grandma is helping her trim, it’s so cute you wouldn’t believe it.”_

Officially, Timothée wanted to die. He was on his phone with his sister, talking about their folks doing wholesome things, while he’s buck naked in a secluded cabin with the married alpha who paid him for sex. He wanted to die, and Armie was taking deep breaths beside him, face hidden in his hands. 

It sort of calmed them down from their manic sex marathon that Monday was welcomed with languid, morning sex and then an actual, full breakfast. They’d been content to just bum around the cabin, sitting together to make out steamily or lie under the sun. The trip to the beach finally happened and they watched the sun disappear in the horizon before walking back. They managed to fit in one more round after dinner before they packed everything up and cleaned. 

Armie helped to bring all his things up to Timothée’s flat once they’re back past midnight. He didn’t stay, but that hardly mattered.

Reality check comes in all sorts of ways for Timothée, and not instantly. The phone call with Pauline stayed with him for the entire week following the weekend in Long Island. It daunted him later on that it was the closest thing to being caught that they’ve ever experienced, and it clawed under his skin consistently. Then it came the time of the month when he’d send money, which was made heavier by the fact that Armie was still asleep on his bed, face buried in the crook of his neck and snoring lightly. 

It reawakened the long buried voice of reason at the back of his head as he stared on his phone screen. It didn’t make him feel nearly as sick as it used to, but close. His phone lit up on his bedside. A message from Pauline following the transfer. 

_I can’t thank you enough for your sacrifices._

_I promise, I’d pay you back somehow. No arguing!!!_

The warmth in his chest warred with the pit in his gut. Timothée forced himself to be cheerful about it. 

_Yeah, you better. The world needs to have me as a teacher._

Armie stirred from the glare of the screen, lifting his head slightly. “Something came up?” 

Timothée placed the phone back on his bedside table. He was overcome with worry that Armie might get up from here and think it’s time to leave. 

“No, nothing. My sister,” he explained, shushing him until Armie put his head back down. “There’s still time.” 

He felt Armie’s smile on his skin, then he hummed, content to fall asleep again. 

The heavier blow came about two months past resuming into their arrangement. Armie has maintained a less often but more consistent meetings, which put Timothée at ease. He’s also normalized giving brief explanations on weekends that he won’t be around for. It was satisfying to have fallen into a routine and an understanding between them. It was an ordinary night in Timothée’s flat; laying cuddled together on the couch and smoking after coming down from a round, when Timothée noticed Armie’s claim out of the blue. 

Claims aren’t more for other people like marks are, but for the pair themselves. They’re naturally more possessive and inclined to each other. It’s a thrum around a person that’s easily recognized by the dynamics. 

Armie stood up to fetch some water. It was then that Timothée got a good look at the alpha, his wedding ring glinting when it caught the sparse light in the flat. 

“Your claim is fading.” He said, leaning against the armrest. 

Stopping, Armie regarded him with a look then passed him the glass of water. “It is.” 

“Is it because of me?” 

“It’s because of _me._ ”

It could be dropped from there, especially since it’s fast shaping into a momentous jab at their conscience. Timothée couldn’t help himself though. 

He downed the water first before asking again. “Did she find out about me?” 

“No.” Armie was preparing to get defensive. It was evident with the stiff way he’s standing in front of the couch. 

_Not yet._ Timothée played it off. “She knows about _us_ then.” 

When Armie smiled, there was no humor in it. “Yes.” 

“Are you okay?” He stood up so they’re face to face. 

It startles Armie. “Me?” 

“Yes, you. You’re my only concern.” Timothée told him, then cupped his face for an added effect. 

Taken by the gesture, Armie’s eyes glazed over and nuzzled into his hand. “I’d deal with it.” 

“Are you keeping me?” Timothée stepped closer to him so they’re chest to chest. 

“Yes.” Armie’s hands went on his back, pressing him closer. “God, _yes._ ” 

Timothée thought that night that it was enough. He pulled Armie to the bed, laid him on the sheets, and climbed over; taking all the work to get them through another passionate bout of sex. 

Cafe grapevine is incredible, though a little far behind. It’s been weeks since Timothée noticed Armie’s claim when Paige hops to his side with a scandalized glint in her eyes. 

“Remember Elizabeth Hammer?” She asks, looking around as if to check. “The blonde alpha-”

Timothée knows. “Yeah, I remember. What?” 

“Well she comes by, but like weekends. Rare though. Anyway, I’ve served her on my shifts - _Liz,_ that’s what she uses - maybe like twice in total. Saoirse was like, _woah,_ her claim is disappearing, and I’m like what?!” Clueless, Paige continues with her gossip and rounds the counter. 

Panicked, Timothée turns away and busies himself with fiddling on the equipment. “So?” 

“Well, Saoirse was like; you know what, I’d snoop around.” Paige snaps her finger, forcing him to look. “She heard that their marriage is like, on the rocks. On casual days, she doesn’t wear her ring anymore! Like, last weekend? I saw her after my shift, no ring.” 

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” In truth, his stomach is turning over itself. 

Paige wiggles her brows. “I mean, you did _almost_ bond with the hot alpha so…” 

“I’m not rebounding a married man.” 

“Oh come on, it’s not like you _caused_ it.” 

Timothée swallows thickly, breaking in cold sweat. “Paige, seriously, forget it. It’s a decade-long marriage.” 

He could’ve told himself that, but here he is. 

The next meeting they got was brief and hurried, as though Armie just squeezed it in his schedule before parting with him with a kiss. No ring. 

Nights have felt restless from there. He’d had an extensive calm before the storm, and now it’s descending upon him with brutal ferocity that threatens the foundation of everything he built his life upon. Desperate to find some form of comfort, Timothée calls Pauline, only to have the sky fall over him completely. 

_“Hey, how’s it going?”_ Timothée had asked with practiced glee. 

_“Great. Long day at work, though. Mom and grandma argued over the garden this morning. What a mess.”_ Pauline replied with a fond chuckle. _“You? Everything good?”_

Humming, Timothée replied _“Yup! You know, I’ve saved up. I think I can visit you soon.”_

_“No way! When? Really?”_ The excitement and joy lifted his mood immensely. _“Tell me when, promise me! I’ll take a leave then we could go to the countryside.”_

_“We could surprise them, then.”_

Pauline squealed through the line. _“Yes! Oh my God, I love this.”_ She let out an exhausted sigh. 

_“What was that?”_ Timothée meant to tease. _“You said you’d tell me if something was wrong.”_

Groaning, Pauline grumbled at him, but the more she did it the clearer it became that there was something wrong. 

_“No, seriously, what’s going on?”_ Timothée insisted, alarmed. 

_“Everyone is fine, don’t worry. It’s kind of personal? I was seeing someone who I really liked, but I wasn’t telling you because I wasn’t sure yet.”_ With the way she spoke, it was obvious that it affected her greatly. 

_“So? What happened?”_ It was a small relief, but it worried him how Pauline sounded so upset. 

_“We’re kind of…”_ Pauline trailed off with another sigh. _“He’s alpha, too. It’s like, where is this even going? No one actually believes in alpha-alpha. You know I’ve been with omegas before, but he hasn’t. What if one day he finds one? I’m just thinking down the line-”_

Timothée only heard his sister as a background noise to the white noise ringing in his ears. It had been necessary for him to neglect his empathy to keep things up with Armie, and now it appealed to him personally. His own sister, nearly in the same place as Elizabeth Hammer who’s paired with an alpha, and he’s the omega in the picture. It stung all over; the shame, the guilt, the dread. The char in his core had spread like wildfire. Timothée is practically in the place of the threat to Pauline’s happiness, and he had made her live off of the money he made from being the nightmare of another. 

His own greed is his downfall, but it can’t possibly hurt as much if he takes himself to the pit willingly. That night, Timothée bought himself alcohol and cigarettes to drown himself with. It’s the same one, for the same reason that he’s mourning Armie. It should end. 

It was already midnight, and Timothée was only sustained by the alcohol to provide him the courage he needed to send Armie a message. 

_I don’t want to do this anymore._

Despite how late it was, Armie still replied shortly after. 

_Meet me tomorrow. Let’s talk._

_No. I draw the line here._

_On what now? Let’s not do this through text._

_I have to, or else I’d do what you want._

Timothée let himself sob. It took this perspective to stop him from being this selfish. 

_Explain yourself._

_Liz. I will not be the person to stand between you two fixing your marriage. I’m done here._

Timothée knows it’s another waste away. He deserves it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao we’re halfway there and it’s still in shambles


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 👁👄👁 
> 
> Guys I’m— Armie and Liz divorced WHAT THE FUCK??? 
> 
> Yeah so, there you have it. Another one for Miss 2020. 
> 
> On the other hand, y’all keep leaving comments on handling relationships healthily. Everyone passes the vibe check, bless. This isn’t the fic for that though aksjdjsjdks.
> 
> Also I’m sorry about my grammar and my use of tenses ;—; English is my third language and also I have no training in creative writing so I’m just winging it.

It only lasted them two weeks. Two weeks of utter misery and forced absolution. 

Everyone noticed. It turns out, a mark runs deeper than he thought. Paired with the sudden halt to his otherwise consistent sex life, it all simply hurt. There’s no relief no matter how much he tries, and every time he tries to touch himself it all inevitably brings him to Armie. The thought itself rips through him even before he has the chance to come down from the painful release, and then shortly followed by rippling dissatisfaction from the orgasm. His body keeps on wanting the alpha that marked it, though Timothée knows it’s not merely his biology that yearns for Armie. 

Elisse fusses over him that Saturday, worried sick with how deathly pale he looks. Even Corazon wants to turn him away when he shows up to their door, but he’s back to a grind. He can’t afford to let go of the fee he’ll earn now that he’s cutting Armie off. 

Still, Timothée pushes through with the lesson. It was the professional thing to do, even if he feels his entire body splitting down the middle. 

_“Elisse,”_ Timothée sighs. _“I’m okay. Stop it, you need to study.”_

Glowering, Elisse still keeps the worksheet out of his reach. _“No, Timothée. You’re sick again.”_

In his opinion, he’s been sick all this time. _“Family problem. I don’t want to talk about it.”_

At least, Elisse honors that. It doesn’t improve her worry, but at least they proceeded. Their afternoon tea is ashes in his mouth, but that’s likely because it’s the most he’s eating ever since he made that call. 

Paige and Josh are more persistent than his teenage student. It started with constant bugging when he showed up on his Tuesday shift, from continuous questioning to incessant doting that never once stopped. Timothée guesses there’s really no helping it when he looks half dead all the time. In the second week, Paige has given up. Instead, she started putting concealer under his eyes, then tint on his cheeks and lips. Josh borderline harassed him to eat; making sure he’s getting breakfast before they open, during lunch time, then before they leave after the shift. Timothée appreciates them tremendously, but he can’t help wishing to just be left alone. Every bit of him protests at the acts of concern and kindness when he all but heartlessly puts himself between a married couple so he can indulge in mind blowing pleasure. 

Out of everyone, Pauline is the worst. Since they’re separated by a literal continent, she can only rely on cues that would unreliably tell her of his condition. Timothée takes full advantage of it. When she asks if he’s alright when he spoke with a hoarse voice from crying so hard, he said it’s just colds from the weather. Another time she caught on to the fact that he’s not eating, then threatened to refuse all money from there on. That was quite timely of her. Timothée was just trying to figure out how to break the news that the financial assistance would stop coming. Finally, the trigger. The alpha’s name is Maël, and with Timothée’s encouragement, Pauline decides to try with him. 

It’s probably the happiest he’s felt his sister to be for years. Before, she’s almost exclusively dated omegas for long term, then some betas for flings or one night stands. It used to be an asserting choice for her; always needing to know that she got the upper hand no matter what. Now that she’s older, Pauline says she realizes that she can use someone of equal footing if looking for a pair, and it’s so far looking bright with Maël because they have great chemistry. 

Every time they talk about it, the knife in Timothée’s chest is twisted in more extreme angles than the last. He let it happen every time, just as he never bothered with the entirety of his apartment that reeked of his sins and selfishness. To this day, Timothée has lost count of the amount of times he’s seen himself in this pit, yet it seems to have been deeper than ever before. The light up above when he looks up feels farther and farther. Timothée sometimes wonders if this could be dug deeper, then he thinks of Armie and how much he still _wants_. It’s how he knows for sure even his rock bottom would adjust to accept the alpha in his life. 

It’s a curse. That’s what they are to each other and that’s what they become when combined. It should’ve stopped them way before it got to this point. Timothée is afraid that he’s past the point of redemption. Even on top of it all, he still thinks of Armie, over and over again, only him. Whether it’s another night of crying himself to sleep from the pain of simply being deprived of the alpha, or his own self-image that he burned to the ground. It all comes down to one thing and it’s Armie, for better or for worse. 

In the second week, Timothée wakes up in the middle of the night with white hot pain on his lower back and a burning sensation throughout his body. He tries to cry out only to realize how dry his throat is. It doesn’t give him time to comprehend what’s going on. He crawls out of bed to turn on the light, then faints right on the floor. 

The sun is out when he wakes up again, and this time Timothée has the urge to just strip and jump in an ice bath with how his skin feels utterly alight. There’s no getting on his feet that he has to crawl towards his bathroom, in tears with the pain on his lower back that his knees are buckled while his legs shook. He manages to turn the shower on before he breaks down in tears, curled on the bathroom tiles while the ice cold spray pricks his skin but offers no relief. 

When he blinks to clear his vision after an unknown amount of time sobbing on the floor, Timothée finds a trail of slick from where he dragged himself on his arms from the bed to the shower. 

It’s the sixth month since Dr. Howard. He’s in heat. 

The realization forces fresh tears to his eyes, the physical pain now has the emotional meltdown to match it. Timothée pushes himself upright again, turning off the shower to move on the toilet. His knees feel so weak that he has to sit down when he pees, yet all made worse by how much slick is flowing out of him. 

Suddenly, the studio apartment is too big, so he just grabs on the sink to support the weight of his body as he bends forward. It’s probably unsafe to drink the water directly from his tap, but Timothée doesn’t really think he could feel any worse than this. The fact that he can’t open the windows to let air inside his uncomfortable flat makes him feel utterly helpless, knowing that relieving himself as such would attract unwanted visitors and he’d be left to fend off for himself. 

Timothée manages to stay on his feet by leaning heavily against the wall as he moves. He can’t take fabric on his skin without feeling burned, so he grabs on the edges of his sheets and peels it off his bed. He only manages to get one side bare as his limbs feel too weak to continue doing work. Being that this is his first natural heat and he’s the only omega in their house, Timothée has no idea how to take care of himself. Of course he’s educated, but it’s different from what he is experiencing now. Hell, he doesn’t even think it should hurt this much. 

There’s an urge in him to call the doctor. He knows he should start with hydrating ang eating food, which he’s done terribly these two weeks. The fact that he’s undernourished on his first natural heat is likely the biggest factor on why he’s practically melting from how much everything burns. He even has to avoid getting friction on his cock, finding it to be way more sensitive that every sensation is simply painful. 

Just when he thinks it doesn’t get any worse, his body pushes out slick, and he feels actual contractions from his lower back, going up his spine then finally his entire body. The ache reaches his head in a hot flash that when he collapses, he’s somewhat aware that half of his body slipped to the floor. 

The positions he finds himself in when he regains consciousness just made everything worse. Timothée is upside down from the hips; half of him still on the bed while his upper body is limp on the floor. It made his head hurt even more, and he’s seeing black spots in his vision. The contractions have subsided, thankfully, but the entire flat still feels like it’s on fire. When Timothée stands, at least he can manage to remain upright, but every step sends a bolt of shock in his bones, starting from his lower back. 

On top of everything that’s shaping itself like hell on earth, Timothée feels hungry. It’s the kind that when your stomach growls, you begin to feel it on your throat. The problem is that he hasn’t really been eating these days. He has to be careful of what he eats and how much, or else he’d get pain in his gut, too. 

The fridge barely has anything left in it and absolutely no fresh produce. There’s butter, jam, some cheese, a loaf of bread he froze because he couldn’t eat it but being poor didn’t set him to let food go bad if it can be helped. While he can still function, Timothée takes a kettle and pours water in it. Maybe tea could help. 

The frozen bread couldn’t be cut by a perfectly healthy person and it can’t be cut by him now he’s helplessly in heat. What he ended up with was the jar of marmalade that he eats by dipping his finger inside then scooping some into his mouth. He’s sitting on his kitchen floor, slick pooling underneath him but he’s already resigned to this fate. He’ll try to eat, drink water, pray the pain doesn’t get worse than this, then maybe just ride it out. Maybe tomorrow won’t be this bad and he can take the edge off with the toys. 

Timothée thinks of his mark as he brews his tea. He won’t even be surprised anymore if it also has something to do with how bad he’s having it. One thought of Armie has the fire burning again in his veins, making his blood feel like it’s boiling, so he stops. Too late. The contractions return that he bends in half instantly, then hits his temple right on the edge of the counter. That can’t be good, especially with the way his vision blurs.

The knowledge that he passed out again came only when suddenly he sat up with a loud cry. Timothée can’t tell if this is worse than the one he woke up with, but his skin feels engulfed in flames while his insides are churning, all on top of the shock from contractions that come in irregular intervals. His body finds new ways to torture him the longer that he’s in heat. 

The problem is that, intellectually, Timothée knows an orgasm can help him, but even a touch against his dick feels painful. His ass has a steady slick going out of it that he leaves a trail wherever he goes, but there’s no urge in him to shove something in there because he’s in so much pain. He just hopes he hasn’t gotten injured yet. 

When it subsides, Timothée tries to move along again to get to his phone. It was a long, dragging process of crawling all the way back to the bed, but at least he got a hold of it. He took emergency leave in the cafe, citing medical reasons. For a while, he contemplated calling Pauline, but settled on texting her that he went to heat and he’s riding it out on his own. She replies in a heartbeat, reminding him to eat and hydrate, then sends links of articles that might help him. 

Despite the utter lack of sex drive due to being in constant pain, Timothée still pulls out the box of toys under his bed. While he’s still not hurting as much, he tries to slip in his fingers to get a feel of himself, then a smaller toy. It was unsurprisingly unpleasant, so he takes a bigger one and pushes it inside. The girth is enough, but even the continuous motion of shoving it back and forth feels heavy on his overly weak limbs. In the end, Timothée sets a vibrator in his ass. It hits the spot, then the contraction returns. Come spurts out of his dick due to shock. It was like he came out of self-defense. 

“Fuck that hurts.” Timothée groans, removing the vibrator and sobbing on the side of his bed. 

This time, when Timothée passes out, it’s from exhaustion. Maybe dehydration as well, but he’s not having that conversation yet. 

In his state, the last thing Timothée would expect is a guest. That makes sense though, since he’s pretty much known to be living all alone in his flat, and now it reeks of his heat, though he’s pretty sure his torment is more prominent that his astoundingly absent arousal. His consciousness returns to him bit by bit, his body finding ways to adjust to the sheer exhaustion it feels. At the back of his head, he hears his name being called. _Armie._ It was nice but only for as long as he hasn't completely reoriented himself of what’s happening. The moment he understands that he’s in his first natural heat, marked and away from the alpha, while he’s been as good as fasting for two weeks, the pain explodes all over again. 

At first, he thought that the pounding was in his head. It _does_ hurt. Whether from hitting it on the counter or just a general side effect, Timothée doesn’t know anymore. Then it continues, and now he recognizes the rattle that follows it. He turns his head weakly to the door, then sees it moving in its frame. 

“Timothée!” 

He sat up, but narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Can heats get so bad that they cause hallucinations? The banging on his door continues; urgent and aggravated, but Timothée still stares frozen on the floor. 

“Timothée!” 

It sounds like Armie, but then it could be wishful thinking. He is, after all, in the worst pain of his life. His brain could be giving him a mirage in the desert. Still, he forces himself to approach towards the door, hopeful but not daring to believe. He watches the door shake from the force of each strike, unsure of what to do but wanting so much for it to be true. 

Just as he’s making up his mind, the door stops moving. It almost rips a sob out of him, devastated at the loss even though he doesn’t know for sure that Armie is out there. Timothée, at the back of his mind, knows that he _shouldn’t,_ now of all times. He’s in heat, and God knows what’s going to happen after this. 

Timothée is turning on his heels to just collapse on the couch, just as all of his body is screaming for him to do, when he hears a loud huff of breath, then a long, guttural groan. It’s very telling how this is the way that he knows for sure that it’s Armie; by recognizing the sound he makes during sex. But then again, that’s how they know each other best, so maybe it’s not so much of a surprise. 

He’s already at the door when he realizes that he’s moved, and only because his overly sensitive senses are assaulted with the stench of a rut. Armie is in rut, and he’s at his doorstep. 

When Timothée swings it open, the air sways along with it, bringing him the fullness of Armie’s smell. The alpha has a full body reaction on the sight of him, his stance stiffening before it hunches to attack, then holds himself back to look around the hallway and take deep breaths. That was obviously a misstep. Armie’s nostrils flared, and Timothée knows he smells the heat. 

“You answer your door naked?” Armie growls at him, but not forcing himself inside. He just stands there, frozen and manic with his own cycle, but never makes a move. 

Timothée feels he’s too stupid for this conversation. Not when they’re face to face again, and his body and all the instincts that’s within it is rejoicing at the sight of him. The pain is still thrumming all over, but it’s dull now, as though his threshold has opened up that he adapted to living with the unending flames in his veins. 

“You’re in rut.” He finally says after he has his fill of taking in the sight of him; in his business suit, but wrinkled and disheveled. “We’re in _sync._ ” It came like a sob. 

Armie nods, but still waits. “I know you said no more-”

“I did! I did!” Timothée wants to cry again, putting his hand over his eyes. “You-”

Armie cuts him off, and it makes the decision for the both of them. “I don’t want to be apart from you anymore.” 

The next thing he knows, he’s welcoming Armie back in his embrace, the door closing behind them as they come together in a kiss. Armie wastes no time and runs his hands all over his naked body. It creates a new layer of fire over his skin that he pulls away to gasp, only to have Armie’s mouth kissing his neck or biting where he can find enough flesh to hold between his teeth. 

Without having anything else done to him more than making out steamily while pressed against the wall, Timothée comes all over himself, then falls limp in Armie’s chest. 

Armie holds him up, taking all his weight in his arms and making shushing noises. “It’s your first heat, is that right?” 

Timothée nods, realizing he’s crying when Armie rocks them back and forth while stroking his hair. 

“How do you feel?” Armie brings them to the couch, folding Timothée on his lap as he nuzzles to the alpha’s neck. 

“It hurts.” Timothée sobs, the contractions coming back that he shudders with it. 

Armie shushes him again, kissing his hair then all over his face in an attempt to soothe him. “You’ve dropped weight again. What are you doing?”

The frustration in his voice strikes a different nerve in Timothée. It’s a different flare of dread when Armie sounds so dismayed with him. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m not mad, it’s okay.” Armie repeats over and over in his ear. 

Timothée finally hears himself frantically apologizing if he’s not begging for Armie to forgive him all in between his panicked crying. 

_I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please don’t be mad. Don’t leave, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Armie._

He knows he’s still chanting it even after Armie assures him. He can’t seem to get himself to stop, not when he can still smell the worry from Armie. It’s not right. Timothée’s instincts are punishing him for it; the alpha should only be smelling of rut. It’s his fault. He’s such a mess up that he can’t even get this one bodily function right. 

“Timothée!” 

The shout brings him back to his surroundings. Armie has sat him down on the counter while he stands between his legs. His hands are on his shoulders, keeping him sitting upright. There’s now their combined distress heavy in the air. Timothée stares back at Armie and knows for sure that the frantic look on his face is mirrored on his.

“We need to get something in you.” Armie tells him, checking the empty kitchen. 

“Take me to bed.” Timothée responds, reaching forward to grab Armie’s face. 

“No, you can’t even handle your heat like this.” 

“I don’t need to eat _now._ Let’s go to bed.” 

Armie glares at him, ready to fight. “No, you’re doing as I say.” 

He turns to reach for the fridge door, but Timothée yanks him back with all the strength he can manage. 

“That’s not what we need now.” Timothée yells, forcing Armie to look over his bed where the toys are scattered on the floor. 

It got him the result he wants. Suddenly, he’s scooped off the kitchen counter and slung over Armie’s shoulder, then thrown on the half peeled bed that he bounces when he lands. Even with the pain in his flesh and shock in his bones, Timothée finds it in him to present; turning on his stomach and pushing his ass in the air. Their bodies know better than them, and he lets it take over, no matter how much he hurts the longer he keeps himself awake. Armie mounts him right away, his jacket thrown over to the side with his tie. He manages a few buttons to open to his chest but in the end settles to simply taking his dick out, finally sinking inside. 

They fucked the tension out of their bodies in that first round. Timothée has completely failed to categorize his pain and pleasure, uncertain if he’s still suffering with contractions or it’s just stimulation against his prostate. Armie slams their hips together so brutally that the shocks that run throughout his body doubles with the relentless aching he woke up with. He can feel the swell of the knot, and it’s stretching his rim every time Armie thrusts to the hilt. There’s no resistance at all, as if his hole is the only part of him that got the memo about his heat and functioning as it should. At least that’s one possible source of pain that took itself out of the equation. 

The moment Armie’s knot goes in, Timothée explodes again in a desperate orgasm. He barely registers the steady spurts of come inside him before he loses consciousness. 

Timothée wakes up later with muted ache under his skin. It was hard to get himself to understand what’s going on when he’s not unnaturally overheating or wailing in pain. 

“Timothée?” Armie asks tentatively, like he’s trying to announce his presence without startling him. 

Slowly, he turns towards the sound and finds Armie naked save for a towel around his hips. He just got out of the shower, which makes Timothée check himself and realize he’s cleaned off, too. He knows what happened, but it’s just now flashing in his memory. 

“How do you feel?” Armie asks again, still keeping his distance. 

“I - well, I’m-” Timothée looks down on himself, then to the fresh, new sheets he’s lying on. 

Armie nods as if that made sense. “Eat first. Can you stand?” 

Timothée’s knees are wobbly, but he manages. Armie watches him attentively but keeps out of the way. When he’s at the kitchen table, he finds toast with butter and marmalade, because it’s literally all he has left, and a cup of tea. He sits down but looks over at Armie who’s standing by the counter. 

“Did you?” _Have something? Eat already?_ The question finishes itself when Timothée waves his hand around. 

Armie avoids his eyes and nods. 

Timothée is far too impatient to keep them standing on thin ice. “Why are you over there?” 

“I’m in rut.” 

“And I’m in heat.” 

They know this. It’s literally why they’re back to each other again. 

Armie glowers at him. “No, I’m in _rut._ ” It finally clicks. If they stand close, he’d pounce. “You need to get something in you.” 

Timothée looks down on the slices of toast on his plate and picks one up, his hunger catching up to him rapidly that he finishes it immediately. In the background, he smells Armie’s approval, and it spurs him further to clean his plate and drink the tea. Swallowing, Timothée looks over to Armie, unsure how to proceed from here. 

“Why aren’t you with Liz?” He asks, like a last resort to shake them from where they’re taking this. 

“Didn’t I tell you already?” Armie meets his eyes but doesn’t budge. 

“Tell me again.” 

“I don’t want to be apart from you anymore.”

The certainty in his voice launches Timothée into action. He jumps from the chair and latches on Armie, who easily catches him in his arms and tilts his head so they can kiss. The flames that tormented him all day are now being replaced by waves and waves of arousal; the initial discomfort finally ebbing away as the real ferocity of his heat arrives. 

Armie is clawing at growling as they kiss, rapidly losing himself to the rut. Timothée closes his eyes and permits every touch and kiss and bite, finding that it’s exactly what his body wants that his head swims from the thrill. All the voice of reason in his head is forcibly pushed back by the haze of their cycles until all Timothée is concerned of is getting off and getting his alpha off and to just keep on taking and taking. 

There’s a different edge that they need to shake off now, and Armie knows it, too. Once Timothée lands on his feet, he’s bent over the counter then receives the full length of Armie’s cock. There’s hardly any pause, and they don’t need it. Armie wraps his hand on the side of his neck, gripping tightly that it puts pressure on his throat and nape at the same time. They’re not following anything else but their base instincts that it ceases to matter that the thrusts are too deep and too harsh. It doesn’t matter if the edge of the counter digs on his stomach as Armie drives his hips forward that their skin slaps loudly. Timothée’s body knows just what to do; his slick coming out in forceful gushes that the stretch becomes effortless. 

Just as Armie is taking him to the high of an orgasm, Timothée feels the pressure on his neck getting tighter. He tries to look at Armie, to check if he’s still aware, then the knot slams right into him and the alpha comes, releasing his neck at once. 

The stimulation resulted in a sudden wave of pleasure that Timothée flails and comes immediately after, his hips unable to move anywhere else as his entire body shivers from the force of it. Armie brings them to the bed, slightly more aware now but still consumed by the rut. Timothée feels as though he’s floating. He closes his eyes, spooned by Armie as he rolls his pelvis to get the knot squeezed by the rim, and they fall asleep like that. 

The next time Timothée wakes, there’s a primal urge to mate. He used to think that it’s an exaggeration to eroticize the cycle, but it’s _not._ His eyes close in on Armie and all he wants is to get himself filled, to have a knot inside, to feel it releasing load after load that he’s dripping with it. 

Timothée kicks off their blankets and shoves at Armie’s shoulder so he’s flat on his back. It stirs him awake, then immediately catches on the smell in the air that his hands are already on Timothée’s hips as he guides himself to sit down on Armie’s dick, then bounces himself as hard and deep as he pleases. Armie lets him, content to lie there and have the work done for him. His hands are roaming on every skin he can reach, smirking at the sight of Timothée riding him while jerking himself off. The knot swells and pops shortly after, then he brings himself to his own orgasm while milking the knot until there’s hardly any left to release inside his hole. 

The worst thing is that they don’t have food. They sleep and fuck and sleep again until their heads clear a bit. They’re at least getting hydrated, but when it’s the following morning Armie gets his phone out to order. It was quite a task when Timothée is sucking on his neck, begging for attention, but Armie is still placing an order with eyes trained on the screen of his phone. Timothée reaches between the alpha’s legs and starts to jack him off, not met with any resistance but Armie does growl. When the order is confirmed, Armie pushes him face down on the bed with his ass in the air and fucks him until the doorbell rings. 

The food has gotten cold outside the door when the knot finally comes down, but at least they get to eat. Armie orders enough to last them two more days, his fridge filled with takeouts for the duration of their cycle. 

Mating takes top priority in the first twenty-four hours. It’s even more intense than ever, even more primal and consuming than he thought. They alternate on their urge to mate, sometimes it’s Armie crawling over him until he presents, other it’s Timothée, enticing the alpha with sensual spread of his legs until he’s mounted. They run purely on instincts that the filter they used to keep vanished completely. After the initial rounds of taking the edge off that they’re no longer in pain, all their defenses broke down. 

When their mating instincts kick off at the same time, it’s a whole other level. They push and pull at each other, bite and scratch on the skin they can reach, shout and moan in their mouths. They’re incorrigible but their bodies understand, know exactly that their desires are one and the same so they no longer hesitate to pounce. Armie has bent him in half while fucking him on the bed. Timothée sat on his lap and rode him until they slid off the chair. They’d been _everywhere._

Every single time that the knot pops, Armie succumbs to his rut, going soft and immensely affectionate as he embraces Timothée who’s high with his own heat. It was the most Armie has ever spoken during sex, and he showers him with so much praise and unabashed worship as he presses kisses all over. Timothée, on the other hand, fucks like he fights. He’s even more submissive when he’s _not_ in heat. During the cycle, it turns out, he’s frenzied with possessiveness that he vividly remembers biting and clawing on Armie’s skin until it reddens and leaves marks. When he gets the knot inside, it’s like the switch flips and he starts to kiss on the bruises and scratches, soothing and remorseful. 

It took the third day for the mating urge to slowly die down. They’re no longer going at it like animals, but _God,_ they’re still so tremendously turned on just from being in the same space. At least the sex is for their pleasure now. Armie wakes him up with a rimjob, which Timothée returns by riding him until he comes. Their food runs out by lunch time so Armie pulls his phone out again to order, and so he gets an idea. Crawling under the kitchen table, Timothée takes his cock and his mouth, then grips on the base when Armie tries to stop, forcing him to have their order placed while getting a blowjob. It riled up Armie so hard that once done, he takes Timothée by the hair and pulls him off his dick and on the table then fucks him with a hand around his neck. 

They did slow down, but what came in the place of primal instincts is filthy hot sex. They seduce each other so mercilessly that it turns into a game. It started with Armie barking out orders to keep him busy; take the food out, set the table, pour some water, all the while making himself absolutely available for the taking. Timothée fell for that so fast that his brain only caught on to the fact that he got played when the knot was already pumping in his ass. 

The retaliation comes that evening. Armie receives a business call which he takes by the kitchen window. With all the stealth he can manage, Timothée slips into the bathroom and wears deep green lingerie and stockings that they got in that boutique because it apparently looks like his eyes. When he steps out of the bathroom, Armie is still talking but catches the sight of him that he hung up so fast then fucked him against the wall. 

They have no need for toys when they’re so perpetually aroused like this. Timothée would stretch on the bed and put his lithe body on display. Armie would flex as he walks by or grunt when lifting something up. They’re both helpless to turn away from the other that if jumping causes them to lose, then nobody has won a single round thus far. 

They’re mostly back to themselves on the fourth night, but they can’t get out of bed if they tried. Timothée feels sore from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. Armie lies beside him, spent and boneless. It was the longest, most satisfying sleep that he’s had in weeks. 

When the morning comes, Timothée wakes to the smell of breakfast food being served. His eyes find Armie standing with his back on him, and the marks all over his back made his face burn. Slowly, he looks down on his own body and finds the same bruises, bite marks, and scratches. He takes his phone and uses the front camera, which shows him even _more_ marks from his collarbone up to the underside of his jaw. 

“Stop it.” Armie says as he plates the reheated food. He doesn’t even bat an eye to his panic. 

Timothée gulps, unable to push down the guilt eating up at him again. 

Sighing, Armie fixes him with a stare then gestures to the table. “Have something to eat first.” 

“You’re working on your marriage.” Timothée responds desperately, as if his weak concern can still offer him absolution from falling back in bed with Armie. 

“I told you, that’s _my_ problem.” Armie picks up his serving and walks to the couch. “I’ll keep a distance if that makes it better. Go, eat.”

It’s not better. It’s the right thing to do, if they’re following _his_ line of thinking. It doesn’t make it easier, though. Timothée wants to reach out an arm and snuggle to the alpha while they feed each other. Still, he complies. Even if Armie has been the one to show up at his doorstep, he’s shown himself over and over again to have better control that Timothée doesn’t doubt that he’d have left if only he was strong enough to order it. 

Wordlessly, they ate their breakfast. It left them at the mercy of the stench of heat, rut and sex heavy in the air. It stings his eyes that he has to blink back tears as he finishes his meal. 

“Quit beating yourself up over this. None of it is _your_ fault.” Armie snaps suddenly. He’s evidently exasperated with the mood he’s getting. 

Timothée pushes himself out of the chair. “How can I not? I told you, I don’t want to be someone who comes between you and your _wife._ If there’s a chance of you two mending-”

“Shut up!” Armie stands up too, just as angry as he sounds. “My goddamn marriage is none of your concern. Why the hell do you keep bringing it up?” 

“Why the hell not?!” Timothée screams back. It felt good to hash this out. “Do you not see? Or you don’t give a fuck? Look what you made me; I’m the whore who broke your marriage!” 

It happened so fast. Armie practically flew over to where he stood but managed to stop on the other end of the table. “You’re not a _whore._ And you didn’t break up my marriage.” He takes deep breaths, controlling himself so it doesn’t escalate. 

Timothée hates that. It makes Armie look better between them when he’s the one who couldn’t keep his distance and leveraged him with financial gain to set this thing in motion. 

“I’m not - I can't,” he turns away, tugging at his hair in frustration. “You need to leave. Go back to Liz. I _swore_ not to do this anymore.” His voice breaks as the tears pool in his eyes, blurring his vision. 

Armie sighs loudly, then falls on the chair. He puts his elbows on each knee and buries his face in his hands. He’s resigned and devastated, but it took minutes before Timothée knows why. 

“You claimed me.” He says quietly, staring off at the floor. 

Timothée feels his blood run cold. He whips around so fast that the room spins, but he sees the claim even before his vision corrects itself. A sob escapes him and his hand flies over to cover his mouth, muffling his whimpers. 

“No, no,” he chants while his tears fall steadily on his face. “I didn’t mean to. Armie, you know I-”

Armie cuts him off cooly. “I know.” 

The way he says it clearly indicates that he’d been aware and had more time to process it. 

“You didn’t even know you did it.” Armie closes his eyes as he leans back on the chair. 

“When? When did I do it?” Timothée wipes angrily at his face then walks over to Armie, the certainty in his steps fading the closer he gets. 

“On the second night. I think it’s the height of your heat after the initial bouts of pain wore off. We were in the bed and you growled at me. I thought you just didn’t want to present.” 

The memories come back as Armie recalls the story. Timothée remembers every detail of it; how he flipped them over he’s on top, how he growls at Armie until he keeps his limbs away, how frantic he fucked himself that he forced Armie to knot. How he claimed the alpha when he lay boneless beneath him. 

“Oh my God, Armie. I’m so sorry. Fuck, I’m-” The apologies catch in his throat when Armie looks at him. 

“Come here.” He opens his arms, motioning Timothée to sit on his lap. 

Timothée feels overly remorseful to even argue again. “I didn’t know.” He whispers. 

Shaking his head, Armie shushes him and puts his head under his chin. “Over a year ago, I caught Liz cheating on me. It was a one time thing, she said, that came back periodically, until it became a regular thing that went on for more than a year until I caught her. She begged me to take her back. She cut him off and dropped everything to earn back my trust. We’ve been working on our marriage since, but the more we do it, the more it becomes clearer that we don’t get on as we used to.” 

Timothée strokes Armie’s face as he listens, offering the comfort he cannot give with his words. “You cheated back.” 

“I know.” Armie kisses the top of his head. “She found out around the time we resumed. After you dated that alpha.” 

Lifting his head, Timothée puts them on eye level as he says “That’s _months_ ago.” 

Armie nods. “She was furious at me and packed her bags to leave for two weeks then came back. She decided to let me ‘get it out of my system’ because she thought I was getting back at her.” 

“Weren’t you?” It was a logical conclusion. 

Armie shakes his head. “No.” 

“Then why?” 

“You weren’t the reason. Don’t ever think that. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry my selfishness tipped us to this point. I’m so, so sorry.” 

Timothée bursts out in tears, shaking in Armie’s lap as he’s gathered in his embrace. Of course he knows it wasn’t all Armie’s fault. He’s enjoyed himself far too much to even claim that. It’s easy to cling on his resentment until Armie takes all the blame, then suddenly he’s weeping from the kindness he’s been given. He wants Armie to lash out, for him to pass the blame the way that Timothée likes doing, yet he just thoughtlessly accepts it when it’s brought up. 

“Would it be better? If you’d claim me back?” Timothée wonders after his cries subsides. 

Armie smiles wistfully but shakes his head. “No, it’s alright. I’ve dragged you down enough.” 

Timothée squirms in Armie’s embrace, preparing to argue, but he’s squeezed tight until he settles back down. It’s how he knows the conversation is over. 

The rest of the day just flows. It’s not tense like Timothée expected, but they can’t say they enjoy it. It’s just a passive moving of time; cleaning up where there’s come and slick, doing the laundry, replacing the sheets, going in the shower, taking out the trash. Armie reheats the last batch of takeouts and they eat lunch side by side on the couch, but they're never engaging in a conversation. They’re too exhausted to go back to it now. 

In the evening, Armie puts on his clothes and passes a set to Timothée. It quickly reminds him of that one time that they went to the grocery together. Although he still feels sore all over, Timothée still gets up and follows Armie out of the building. 

They did return to the 24-hour grocery and completed the errand in silence. Timothée follows mindlessly as Armie loads up their cart with fresh produce, dairy, snacks, pasta, cured meat, even grocery breads that he doesn’t want. They hardly communicated verbally, but their cues are enough for each other. 

Timothée thought they’re done for the night after that, but Armie drives even further away until they arrive at a hole in the wall restaurant that’s seemingly a Mediterranean fusion. He’d been too disoriented by everything that Armie took it upon himself to order for them. To his surprise, all the food that Armie got is up to his tastes. It probably shouldn’t come off as a shock since he prepares their food a lot of the time, but Timothée can’t help but feel touched that he actually remembers. 

It’s already midnight when they got back to the flat. Armie dutifully takes the bags up and leaves them on the kitchen counter. They still move in silence, having found comfort in it after the continuous highs and lows during the week of their cycle. Timothée busies himself with putting the perishable in the fridge though he pays attention to the sounds that Armie makes as he fumbles around the flat. When Armie emerges from the bathroom, he’s put together, ready to leave. Timothée’s scent flares in protest even before he can open his mouth.

Surprised, Armie turns slightly towards him, waiting if he’d like to verbalize what he just smelled. 

“Stay the night.” Timothée abandons the fridge to walk over him, peeling his jacket off then his tie with too much force for inanimate objects. 

When he feels Armie’s hand on his cheeks, he almost shrugs it off, then he realizes that the alpha is wiping the tears that stream down his face. 

“Okay.” Armie even helps him with taking off his clothes, soothing him with his hands over his own. “I’ll stay as long as you want me.” 

Timothée knows he’s talking about more than just tonight. He takes Armie by the nape and pulls him down to a kiss. 

“I _want._ ” He says. 

Armie nods, letting himself be led to the bed. They had sex, and finally it was tender and passionate, caring and languid. Timothée thinks it was his favorite. 

Against his better judgment, they resumed with their arrangement where they left it. They never talk about Armie’s marriage again. It doesn’t make anything okay; Elizabeth still thinks they’re trying, or at least as far as he knows. Timothée doesn’t think he wants to find out what happened when Armie returned to her, claimed by an omega that he’s having an affair with. If things crashed and burned, Armie didn’t give it away. 

The utter disregard can also be suspiciously attributed to the claim that Timothée made on Armie. The greed that Timothée has had seemingly blown over as a result. He takes up so much of Armie’s time now; he keeps him around longer than they used to when they meet, he’s overcompensating during sex, he’s leaving marks all over Armie’s skin. Perhaps it’s also the claim that allows for Armie’s total compliance to his possessiveness. None of his unusual behavior was met with protests. In fact, Armie appeared to have flourished under it. He’s more openly affectionate and transparent. He bares his emotions rather freely and doesn’t shy away from his constant desire to touch. 

The routine returns, just as it always has. Timothée’s mind hasn’t completely come down from their cycle and the aftermath. He goes to work and meets Armie at night when he’s free. He’s also looking better than he has in those two weeks that they’re apart. Paige and Josh quickly caught on, first with how he’s been eating on his own accord, then the colors returning to his face, then his body slowly looking better though he finds it hard to put on weight. They initially tried to ask him, then bargained, until they straight up begged, just for him to talk about what happened. Josh suspected right away that it was the fuck buddy, Paige thought that it’s a family problem since they’re in another country. Both are not far off the mark, and Timothée is happy to keep it that way. 

The Baader-Meinhof, or the frequency illusion, is rather interesting. It’s when your knowledge of something leads you to believe that it’s gotten more common around you when in truth you simply have a better awareness of it to notice. Elizabeth Hammer, it turns out, isn’t all that far from Timothée’s world. 

In the span of a month since their cycle, he’s seen the woman twice. Once, in the cafe, though his shift has ended by then and he’s already off to go home. Another was at a volunteer group for a soup kitchen or something. Apparently, she works in the food industry and does charity on the side. Interestingly, what was in place of the characteristic dread and guilt is his newfound hostility. Timothée feels more entitled to Armie, no matter how irrational that is, that both times, he sent the alpha a text, asking if they’re meeting that night because he _wanted_ to meet. 

Each time Armie shows up at this door, Timothée feels chosen. It was a dangerous thing to get used to, yet they’re together again in the freefall. Armie just goes in and kisses him and lets Timothée have his way. 

“Is it always like this?” Timothée asks, his head resting on Armie’s chest after they came down from a round. 

Armie hums as he strokes his hair. “The claim?” 

Timothée nods. 

There’s a shrug, or what can be managed when they’re lying down. 

“I’m alpha, so there’s a natural thrum of being territorial. To me, when I first did it, I was already possessive. And then I got pretty hostile to anyone else.” He explains casually. They don’t need to say it’s Liz. There’s no one else for Armie in the last decade. 

“It gets better then?” 

“You’d get used to it, I guess. The control develops over time.” Armie lifts his head in an attempt to look at him. Timothée burrows in his neck, earning him a chuckle. “What’s bringing this up?” 

_Elizabeth. Your wife._ Timothée doesn’t say it. “I’m curious.” He answers instead. “What is it like, then, to be claimed?” 

“Like I’m tethered to you.” Armie replies. “Generally, you have a great influence over me. If you want it or you don’t; I’d consider that. Sometimes, it’s all that matters.”

“You do that plenty already even without a claim.” Timothée points out. 

He looks up just in time to catch the ghost of a sad smile tugging at Armie’s lips. “My bond with Elizabeth had been weak even before I met you.” He pauses to kiss his forehead. “Remember that. It’s not your fault.” 

Timothée isn’t looking for absolution. Their biology gives him the security blanket to stay selfish in the face of this fiasco. He’s still grateful for the thought. Whether it’s actually Armie or just his natural instincts towards him, Timothée can worry about that later. 

“Do you own that cabin in Long Island?” He steers away the conversation. 

What’s left to be said about it, given the situation? They’re left on extremes, and neither of them are ready for that yet. 

“Yes, ours actually. Liz and I. She liked it on paper as an asset but never wanted it.” Armie tells him. “Never been one to be away from the city.” 

Timothée grimaces. “I thought it was a rental. There was nothing personal.” 

Armie tries to shrug again. “We never went.” 

“You like it.” He notes, but needs a confirmation. 

“I do.” He responds with a smile. “Did you? When we were there?” 

Timothée has the chance and takes it. “Yes. Will you take me again?” 

He knows Armie won’t refuse, but he doesn’t expect the happiness that radiates from the alpha. 

“After your class? This Saturday,” he proposes, nearly buzzing with excitement. 

“Pick me up.” Timothée kisses him to seal the deal. 

The next time they’re driving to Long Island, at least they only stopped so Timothée can pee instead of going lingerie shopping. He still teased Armie about it. It was a good laugh. 

There’s a stark difference from then and now. They actually got to use the pool like normal people and stargazed in the attic and took long walks at the beach. Armie had always been good to him, but it really is on another level now that he’s claimed. Instead of simply watching until he’s needed, Armie comes forward and assists Timothée without being told, he wakes up first and makes them breakfast, then wakes up Timothée with gentle strokes and sweet kisses. He does more than what he needs to. Often, Timothée watches him do things because Armie remembers that it’s how he likes things. Their food choices, the time of the day, every single thing they do together. 

When they have sex, it’s more passionate; steamier and heavier than how they used to do it. Armie handles him so delicately that Timothée aches under the weight of his reverence; the alpha’s devotion simply written all over his person, unabashed and honest. Sure, they still have kinky sex because it’s fun, but even that sees Armie worshipping him when he gets the chance. 

They drove back Monday night and parted then. Armie kissed him at his doorstep before leaving. It is new, but Timothée is not complaining. Armie did say there’s getting used to being claimed, but he doesn’t seem to be slowing down even if it’s getting to the two month mark. But then again, it is still relatively new. 

Timothée stops bothering himself over it. Let the chips fall where they may. 

“Where’s the vanilla?” Paige asks him as he returns from the toilet. 

Timothée shrugs and juts his chin to the stockroom. “Open a new one. The ones in the cupboard stink.” 

Paige blinks at him in confusion. “What? I just restocked those. It’s from the new batch that got delivered.” 

“Must be a different one, then.” Timothée replies dismissively. 

The doors open and they greet automatically. Timothée startles at the sight of Elizabeth Hammer but keeps himself to the machine since Paige takes the register. The transaction is over quickly and they prepare the order together. Timothée makes her large iced macchiato while Paige gets the avocado toast. He feels her eyes darting to Liz, making him wonder if Paige has more gossip from her side of the marriage. 

Even though he feels tense the whole time, he manages to give her the bag and tell her to have a nice day. Liz only hums, busy with her phone, then disappears out of the cafe. 

“You can’t even act like you don’t gossip about her.” Timothée scolds Paige lightly, who flails around in guilt. 

“Oh shut up.” She rolls her eyes at him but she’s laughing. “Saoirse can’t get out of the gossip mill okay?” 

Timothée practically lives it, but he’s still curious about what goes around out there. “And?” 

Paige wiggles her brows teasingly. “I thought no more gossiping?” 

“Well, since we’re here,” he throws the cloth to the shelf and faces Paige, urging her to go on. “So?” 

Laughing, Paige points at him like she’s won a round. “Fine, since you asked.” She arranges the register before she turns away. “Saoirse thinks it was a fluke. Like, even if they hit a bump, they’re somehow working it out or whatever.” 

“Really?” Timothée finds that interesting. 

“Yup. Apparently she flaunts around her marriage these days; I don’t know if you see her around but she’s pretty much out there.” Paige recalls absently. “You know? Volunteer work and some other charity.” 

Timothée brings it up to Armie that night, but he tries to be casual about it. Walking out of the bathroom, he leans on the wall and stares before stalking into the kitchen where Armie is making dinner. 

“Your body not adjusted yet to drinking water?” Armie teased, eyeing him as he walked. 

Timothée snorts. “I swear it’s like having a nutritionist around.” He takes a seat and puts his chin on his palm. “Liz has been advertising your marriage lately.” 

Armie sighs with a shake of his head. “She’s really putting in a lot of work these days.” He confirms, pouring the soup. “Do you want chili on yours?” 

“Yes, please.” 

“Really?” 

Timothée shrugs. He does feel like it. “Yeah, just a change.” 

“Alright.” Armie dumps the chili in. “I was just teasing because you never wanted it.” 

“We’re all for trying new things.” He quips, letting the conversation about Liz go. 

Armie had to leave early that night, but Timothée made sure he’s remembered well. 

The next morning, Timothée cursed he damned chili in his dinner. There’s a reason why he never liked putting it, and now he’s throwing up first thing in the morning. Jokingly, he sends a text to Armie, cursing at him. 

_You know the solution to a lot of that?_ Armie replies after he sends consecutive whining. 

_What?_ It’s obviously just a bait, but Timothée takes it anyway. 

_Hydration._

_Get off my back._

It took some time until his nausea subsided, but at least he made it to his shift on time. 

Probably one of Timothée’s biggest faults among all his other big faults is his lack of foresight. It’s past lunchtime and he’s wiping tables; the flood of customers finally ebbing away since the break is over. Liz returns to the cafe and this time eats her order there. The previous encounter should’ve at least raised his awareness, but Timothée gapes at the reflection as he watches the woman take her tray to a table and sip her coffee. 

For once in his life, Timothée heeds his instincts and walks to the break room to avoid being in the same space as her. 

Liz clearly has other ideas. “Excuse me,” she says as he’s passing by. “Can I have a word?” 

Like most alphas, she doesn’t use scent blockers. Timothée stops in front of her table and gauges her confident scent. 

“Of course,” he tucks the cloth to his back, giving her a polite smile. 

Liz returns it. “I know you’re my husband’s omega.” 

“Me?” Timothée really should’ve known. It’s about time. 

“The Long Island cabin? I’ve been tipped by the neighbors. Let’s not do this.” Liz gestures him to come closer so he’s standing right at the edge of her table. 

Timothée looks around. His primary concern is the present, which is looking as though it’s going for an utter public humiliation. 

“Between the two of us, we’ve already settled the score by cheating on each other.” Liz keeps her voice down, sparing him the shame. Perhaps it’s for her, too. After all, she’s very concerned about how people view her marriage. 

Timothée just stands, forcing himself to stand his ground and not give anything away. 

“Once your claim fades, I’m expecting my husband back. I’d like to start a family; a new beginning, if you may. Don’t be the person to stand in the way of that, please? You’re young and pretty. There’s more to life than this.” For someone who’s talking to her husband’s kept man, Liz can certainly keep her cool. 

It must’ve come from the fact that she is still the wife; the person Armie comes home to despite being claimed by another. Timothée hates how his guts stir, but he just smiles and goes back to work. 

Until that night, Timothée wonders if Armie is merely stuck with him due to his mark. He rejects the meeting, saying he has translation to work on then takes out whatever is ready to eat in his fridge. Cupcakes can be dinner if no one is there to stop you. He takes a huge bite then spits it out, disgusted with the pungent stench of pastry that has gone bad. Rinsing his mouth, Timothée throws out the rest and prepares to sleep instead. He doesn’t feel like dwelling on this right now. The claim will still buy him some time, and until then he could figure out ways to adjust. 

The next morning, his nausea wakes him up and he bolts right to the toilet to empty his stomach. This time, he has nothing to blame it to aside from the god-forsaken vanilla cupcakes that he didn’t really eat. He’s strangely plagued with fear though; his intuition replaying the encounter with Liz the day before. 

It’s far-fetched, especially with the way he’s physically built, but a chance is still a chance. Timothée _did_ get his heat after six months. This should’ve been something he did right after the cycle. 

With his stomach twisted in knots, he messages Dr. Howard. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, I cannot tell you how much I enjoyed writing 4k words of period cramps and putting it on a man. Idk what that says about me girl but they hurt. Sorry fic Timothée.
> 
> also if you ask siri who armie’s wife is it says timothée chalamet and i— i thought it was fake 💀


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot tell you how many times I drafted this chapter. And it opens to medical bullshit that I know full well doesn’t make sense but like just let it fly ➖👄➖ oh to see without my eyes.

Timothée stares at his test result, frozen and breaking down at the same time. Dr. Howard gives him as long as he needs to take in the news. He supposes that there should be a million things running in his mind at the moment, but he’s left with utter shock and disbelief. Pregnancy is something he’s already taken out of the equation. He has looked at himself and scoffed because he  _ knew _ it’s hardly a possibility with the way that his body is built. But then again, he should’ve made sure, he should’ve gotten those lab tests when his financial standing got better. He should’ve listened to Armie when he suggested birth controls at the very beginning of their arrangement. There’s so many things he could’ve done differently but never paid mind to, and now he’s here. 

The moment he recovers, his tears escape and he cries out in the office. Dr. Howard is instantly on his side, soothing him with rubs on his back and shushing silently. Timothée doesn’t know how long it went on. He’s still sobbing even if there’s no more falling from his eyes. Time and time again, Dr. Howard tried to get his breathing to normal, but it derailed anyway. An assistant was called inside the clinic and he felt himself brought to a bed. Dr. Howard strokes his hair, her lips moving probably in comfort, but he hears none of it. 

When he comes back to himself, his head hurts so bad and his throat is so dry that it’s a struggle to swallow. Dr. Howard is immediately by his side, handing him a glass of water and guiding him as he drinks. 

“Tell me how you’re feeling.” Dr. Howard takes the glass and puts it down. 

Timothée pushes himself to sit. “Like shit,” he answers grumpily. “Let’s - can we just? Like, go back. Are you even sure? Can we check again?” 

“Timothée,” Dr. Howard sternly says. “False negatives are possible, false positives are rare. With how sexually active you’ve been for the last eight months, there’s hardly any other explanation for this.” 

“The explanation is that it’s not supposed to happen. I’m infertile, like-”

Dr. Howard narrows her eyes at that. “I did  _ not _ say that.” 

“But look at me!” Timothée whines, waving at his body. “This is not  _ it. _ I can’t carry this out.” 

“Look, I don’t know if I should still give a prognosis given how you’ve taken my last one.” She stares him down until he shuts his mouth and swallows his protests. “But you need to understand, and hopefully get that lab test now.” 

There’s no getting worse than this. Looking up to the ceiling, Timothée nods to her to proceed. 

“Women can have irregular periods. Think of it as something along those lines. It seems that you’ve conceived following the cycle, and so you  _ are _ fertile, but you need medical interventions in order to raise that possibility outside of your heat. To be on regular periods, so to speak. Now, for your physique.” Dr. Howard takes a deep breath like it’s just as hard for her. “It will be very difficult. You’re even underweight. You need constant medical attention throughout your pregnancy. I’m going to be honest with you; there’s going to be a point where you will probably need to stay in bed. Now, your alpha-”

Timothée feels stung with the reminder. “I don’t have an alpha,” he snaps. 

Dr. Howard clearly wants to say something about that but thinks the better of it. “The father, then,” she amends. “Get him to stay with you. It’s going to be a very difficult journey.” 

That’s not possible. As far as he knows, Armie and Liz are only riding out his claim so they can start a family of their own. It’s not even up for discussion anymore. It’s not just between them now; there’s an innocent, unborn child that may get caught in the crossfire. Liz is confident in their agreement. Armie has never really shot down any of it. They are still, technically, together and married. Even if they’re in some weird, consensual cheating phase. They are endgame. 

“I’ll settle my bills.” Timothée announces, and Dr. Howard naturally wants to contest his decision. “I’m going home.” 

“Timothée, at least book another appointment for the lab if you’re not up for it now.” Dr. Howard still guides him to his feet as he leaves the bed. 

“No, doctor, you don’t understand.” Timothée faces her and holds her gaze. “I’m going  _ home. _ To France.” 

Dr. Howard gasps, her eyes wide as she takes in the news. “Well, I suppose-”

“It’s my call to make, yes?” 

“Of course.” 

Timothée nods. “I will get in touch with you when I get a lab test. Will that suffice? For your peace of mind.” 

Dr. Howard sighs loudly but goes on to settle the bill. “For  _ our _ peace of mind. I beg you, please, heed this one. There’s a child coming along.” 

Don’t be selfish. Don’t be rash. Don’t be  _ stupid. _ Any of those could cover it, or all three combined. Timothée nods again, understanding his situation as much as his panicked brain would allow. The fees are settled rather quickly. Even though she’s clearly not expecting much, Dr. Howard still writes him prescriptions and a bunch of notes. They part just like that. 

When Timothée gets in a cab, he says Elisse’s address. On the way there, he books a ticket to France, leaving the next day. It’s expensive as hell, but it’ll have to do, or else he might change his mind. When he gets to Mrs. Corden’s doorstep, he hands in his resignation, apologizing profusely and saying he needs to return to France as soon as possible. She’s gracious enough to let him write a letter in her office to hand to Elisse since his departure can’t wait. Corazon hugs him on the way out but doesn’t pry him. 

The whole ride back to his flat, Timothée knows he’s just functioning on adrenaline. For the first time in months, he contacts his aunts living in the Upper West Side and asks them to go in his flat three months from now, when his lease is up. It gives enough time, he supposes. Should Armie show up, he’d likely given up by then. Everything could just work out. They  _ should.  _

Timothée sprints to his floor the moment the cab pulls up, his fare paid even before they can stop. He takes his luggage and shoves his clothes as fast as he could, fitting in the meager possessions that he has. There is still food that may go bad in his fridge and the cupboards are stocked. He packed them all in a bag and gave it away to the next door neighbor that he never talked to. The cafe is a tricky thing; he just emailed the owner that he’s resigning and leaving for France first thing tomorrow. He’d likely reply later that day, but it’s really no longer up for discussion. Paige, Josh and Saoirse all got texts from him; just a quick thank you and goodbye. No explanations. He doesn’t think he can risk having Armie know. 

Finally, he calls Pauline. 

_ “Timothée? What’s wrong?”  _ She answers just after two rings. 

The sound of her voice pushes him over the edge. Crying, he confesses  _ “I’m pregnant.”  _

Pauline stops breathing, working through her shock, then puffs out angrily.  _ “Who did this? Did you call the cops-” _

_ “Pauline, no, it’s not like that.”  _ Timothée considers his options, but in the end knows he’s unwilling to spill his gut now.  _ “I’m going home. I’ve saved up enough, I’d get by for a few months-” _

_ “Stop it! Don’t worry about that, not now!”  _ Pauline scolds. 

_ “I won’t let myself be a burden-” _

_ “You’re not! You never will be. You’re family. Timothée, what the hell?”  _

If only they knew all the events that led up to this. 

_ “Just listen, okay? The father, he’s a good man. We’ve been together for months, but just don’t ask me anything. I just need to leave. This is not good for him, not right now. I didn’t tell him.”  _ That much will just have to do. 

Pauline is evidently frustrated as she sighs.  _ “You’re flying straight home?”  _

_ “Yes, tomorrow. I’ll see you soon.”  _

They hung up shortly after. Timothée gets the help of the maintenance guy to load his things to the back of a cab. He books a hotel near the airport, then buys a temporary sim. He’s no longer opening a line of communication with Armie. This is it, and it’s done. It can’t go further than this, not when there’s already a child on the way. 

It’s the first time in a while that he’s stepping in a hotel room and not expecting Armie. Even though it’s not exactly a good reminder, those were still memories he enjoyed. Timothée thinks every step of the way will feel like this from now on; living with the ghost of the alpha that he claimed and now left something even more permanent to remind him of what they’ve done. He’s in tears even before he hits the bed. 

Just as he thought rock bottom can’t get any deeper, here he is now. 

Pauline kept in touch with him until he boarded the plane. For the entire time, she got herself a leave, bought tickets to Le Chambon-sur-Lignon, booked an appointment with a doctor in their hometown, then told their mother and grandmother that he’s coming home for good with news to share. That’s a load off his chest that he’s grateful to be spared of, and he cries when the phone call ends. Throughout the day, Pauline texts him to eat, drink water, snack on something. She never asks, and for that alone Timothée will do anything she tells him to. 

Timothée moves in a daze. He knows that his feet are moving but he hardly has awareness of his surroundings. It’s likely better that way, considering that it’s going to be a long way home. Pauline was with him every step of the way; checking in literally every hour and mapping out his arrival down to the very last detail. Timothée supposed he can let her worry about that now.

All things have been said and done. It’s here now, and the best he can do is try to keep on the right track from now on. If any of the initial findings on him were to go by, then working during his pregnancy isn’t an option. The amount he saved would last him a bit, but not for the entire duration. It’s going to be a burden automatically passed on to Pauline, so he has to figure a way out around that. 

They did talk about their mother’s idea to open up a business. Timothée can offer up his savings to jumpstart it and grow the money from there. In all likelihood, he’ll stay in Le Chambon-sur-Lignon perhaps long after the baby is born, so it makes sense to put up a steady income stream. It also means that he can no longer send extra money to cover other expenses. In fact, he’s adding  _ more _ to it. At least France has good health care as compared to the U.S. 

The baby, when it comes, will be taken care of. At least he can have that, since he’s staying with his mother and grandmother. He won’t be kicking his limbs trying to keep his head above the surface. Their grandmother is an omega, traditional and chooses it, and clearly it’s time to take down a few notes from her. God, Timothée doesn’t even know how to cook, and he’s never been good with kids because he got used to being the youngest in the family. That’s going to be a lot of work. 

When he boards, it’s just about his luck to be seated right next to an Asian man with an infant. Timothée gives a curt smile, but he can’t help his eyes darting over them periodically. It’s an alpha, which is a blow that sends him right back to the conundrum that is Armie. The baby is messy and blabbers all over itself, putting anything in its mouth or gripping whatever’s within reach. 

“I’m so sorry about him.” The alpha said, plucking the child’s fingers off his curls. “He’s just curious.” 

Timothée smiles through the lump in his throat. “It’s alright. Me too.” He frowns after he speaks, confused at his own response. 

The man laughs. “Sorry? Or curious?” 

Sheepish, Timothée shrugs. “Curious, I guess?” 

“Planning? Expecting?” The man rearranges the baby on his lap so they’re face to face.

“Thinking.” Timothée can’t seem to admit it even to a stranger. Not yet. 

The man stares at him with a glint in his eyes. He shakes his head, chuckling. “Oh man, sleep as long as you can. Like seriously,  _ sleep. _ And your spouse? Do it as often as you can, like, I  _ swear. _ You’d be up on your feet at an ungodly hour wiping shit and getting pissed on and in the morning this little thing right here will puke on you just when you’re already dressed for work. Isn’t that right?” He bounced the child on his legs, making it giggle. 

It does sound terrible. Timothée gapes, dumbfounded at how casually he says it. “You don’t sound like you hate it, despite your words.” 

“That’s because I don’t.” He puts the child on his chest and nuzzles it there. “It’s the best thing ever, I mean, look at him! Well, obviously I think he’s just the cutest, but that’s every parent for you.” 

Timothée offers his index finger when the baby reaches out, palm closing and opening in the air. “I think I would agree.” He’s enamored by the child, curious and trusting. 

“Aww, baby fever already?” The man teased him. “Anthony, by the way.” 

“Timothée,” he replies instantly. “Sorry, I forgot myself.” 

Anthony just laughs, waving him off. “Nah, no big deal. How old are you?” 

“Eh,” Timothée wrinkles his nose, not enjoying how this is playing out. “Twenty-one.” 

Instead, Anthony lights up in delighted surprise. “Hey! I was too, when I first had a child. This is our third now.” 

The flight didn’t go so bad, not with Anthony chatting with him, talking about the first couple of months; his wife’s pregnancy, the cravings, the mood swings, then the baby came and the chaos with it. He told Timothée all about their constant struggle with each other, with work, but then he also talked about the joys and fulfillment that came with raising a child. Their eldest is already eight, competing in gymnastics and basically an all-around wonder child. His wife, Stephanie, is with her now. The second is four, not much going on there yet, still eating dirt and knocking over things, but they’re happy with how he is. 

It’s strangely assuring; how transparent Anthony is about parenting. He never once shied away from the ugly sides of it, the mortifying, and especially not the terrifying bits. He told Timothée that they worry about who their kids might be friends with, what they might do in the future, where their life would take them, all on top of them worrying if they’re doing enough, if there’s more they can do. At the same time, he glorified the moments he had with his family; how it became a game between him and his wife to point out traits that their kids might’ve taken after them, how they push at each other when answering awkward questions, how excitedly they shop as they grow. 

Once their conversation died down, Timothée was left with a rapidly growing dread. It’s apparent by then that what made everything flow a little easier was their teamwork. He couldn’t help how his hand went to his stomach, as if comforting the still-growing child in the absence of the other parent that it’ll likely grow up not knowing. 

When Pauline messages him again, this time making him swear to talk about the father, Timothée made up his mind. He’ll never say a word save for a few information and twisted versions of the truth. His child will not grow up around people who could have a bad thing or two to say about the father. All of it will remain between him and Armie, and once the child is of age, then Timothée will tell everything directly. 

The entire trip took sixteen hours. It’s amazing how Pauline pulled it off, but she’s right there with their mother in tow. Timothée felt his chest close and he ran to them, hugging in the middle of the crowded hall. They were considerate enough to not interrogate him right away, though he knows it’s coming. When they hit the road again in the old, rundown car, he slept until they’re home. 

It was a sweet reunion; their grandmother even prepared a full dinner when they arrived. It cheered him up, feeling a little lighter knowing that he’ll have them to get through this. He also met the nurse, Élodie, who helped his grandmother make their meal.

Timothée chose after dinner to break the news. Their grandmother giggled with delight, but his mother stayed apprehensive. Inevitably, they asked about the father, and Timothée shot them down every time. 

_ “He’s a good man.”  _ He said, almost wistfully.  _ “I’m the problem. I left without saying goodbye. He doesn’t know.”  _

Nicole looked around, alarmed. Pauline already knew this part, staring at him intently. Their grandmother frowned at him. She’ll probably scold him one of these days. 

_ “We’re going separate ways in the end. It was just a matter of time.”  _ Timothée explained, looking out the window.  _ “It’s unexpected, but I want it, and I’d like to keep it. With him? I’m not sure. I don’t want our place in his life to be something I need to fight for. So I left.”  _

They evidently wanted to say more things, but he stood up and excused himself. It was a long trip, and overall he’s had stressful days preceding it. When he retired to bed, it felt like the final nail in the coffin. It’s irreversible from here on, and he has to stay here, as far away from Armie as possible. The child needs to be spared from their mistakes. 

After recovering from the journey and settling back in, Timothée immediately went to the doctor for a check up. The only good news is that his pregnancy is coming along just fine, but everything that follows are complications. Dr. Howard was right, for the most part. 

Needless, to say, the first year had been tough. The morning sickness progressively got worse, then his appetite got messed up until he couldn’t eat anymore. It led to him losing weight, making the pregnancy even harder than it is. He got put on a very specific diet, first to stimulate his appetite, then slowly getting him to eat. It wasn’t very successful, so they just settled with feeding him every hour with small portions. It was overall awful. 

The money he saved at least covered his medical expenses, as well as everything it would need, like clothes, a crib, feeding bottles, toys. Pauline kept buying random stuff out of her excitement, and it rubbed off on everyone, despite how difficult and sensitive the pregnancy was coming along. The house plant and flower business got started, too. Timothée insisted on using the money he set aside for it. Their grandmother did not miss a beat and told him of every place in their town where he can get things in bulk or contacts for other suppliers. It was smart and responsible, she said. 

Nicole was reluctant to take his son’s money to get the shop going, but she perked up fairly quickly as they went. It had been therapeutic for Timothée. He could hardly manage to go all around with how weak he’d gotten, even staying in bed especially in the latter part, but he got on flower arrangements and grooming house plants. At some point, he painted and decorated the pots. Pauline took care of getting the word out around, and it became a stable source of income over time. 

The birthing nearly took him out. Timothée needed c-section and spent a good amount of time in the hospital pre and post birth. It wasn’t an exaggeration when people said that holding the baby will make everything feel like it’s worth it. It was beyond that. Timothée wouldn’t trade it for anything the world has to offer. He named her Astrid, to the confusion of literally everyone, but he never cared to explain. 

The second year had been chaotic. Nicole argued with his grandmother over infant care; literally from the sleeping schedule up to the diet. Astrid, for all that she put Timothée through during his pregnancy, was such a well-behaved child. She wasn’t temperamental and hadn’t been  _ that _ bad at nights, so they still got somewhat sufficient sleep. 

The business went steadily. It was a small countryside town, and picking up fresh flowers, either to replace the vases in their homes or to give to a date or loved one, became a part of their routine. It was good income and covered their expenses at home. Even the house plants were sold at good rates, and Timothée learned to build terraria as well. Pauline even got to enroll back in her program at the university, but she did late afternoon to evening classes to fit with her work. She said there wasn’t much left she needed to finish since she dropped on senior year. Mostly, she had to retake classes, complete her course checklist and finally an undergraduate thesis. 

The third year was welcomed beautifully by Astrid’s first birthday and Pauline’s graduation from university. It was made even better when Pauline got to move in international banking from her previous insurance firm, and to celebrate, paid for Astrid’s themed birthday. It was a heartwarming affair at home. His family stopped trying to pry him for information about the father, especially with how clear it was that he had no intention of bringing him into their lives. Eventually, he’d have to open up about it, since Astrid would start asking questions, too. Timothée knew he’d answer, and he already planned what he was going to say. 

Armie had been a constant thing in his mind, and it hurt just as it relieved him that the alpha only existed now in his consciousness. Timothée wondered often about how he was, if he did start that family with Liz, if they patched things up in the end. The ache was the worst during his pregnancy; his hormones and instincts all screaming to have Armie around. It dulled with time, but it’s still there. 

Astrid grew up looking more and more like Armie. She’s just as blonde and blue-eyed, and all of his family said she’s nothing like Timothée when he was a toddler. As opposed to his aloof personality, Astrid loved people. She was hardly shy and got on with neighbors very well. She even became a darling in the shop, the patrons coming in and greeting her and she’d giggle and smile. 

One analogy that stayed with Timothée was how loss can be pictured by imagining a box with a button signifying your pain. Inside, there’s a ball that at the beginning will be massive, so little movements hit the button spot on, and with time only got smaller and smaller until it hit it less, but not to say it was no longer there. Timothée felt like the ball had shrunk for him, but it was hard to keep it away from the button considering how present Armie’s reminders were. It became an ache he came to relish. 

In the fourth year, Pauline brought up university. It was brushed off initially until he found that it nagged him in the back of his mind. Still, Astrid was only two, and he’s still reluctant to part. The discussion about Armie was creeping back up again when he trained Astrid in both English and French. Timothée was better at receiving and deflecting it by now. 

Truthfully, he hoped to introduce them one day. He hasn’t thought through on the hows or the wheres, but it’s a clear plan in the future. Armie and Astrid deserved to know each other, but he’d prefer if it happened when he’s already set and didn’t look like he’s just after child support. 

Pauline had been seeing this beta from her workplace, but she said she’s not taking it seriously because they’re colleagues and she’s doubting that it’ll end well for them. Finance was very competitive, and she was more concerned right now in landing more opportunities than settling down. Even though they’re doing pretty good with the business, Pauline still sent money for anything they might need. Usually, they just go to Astrid’s hobbies if not directly to savings. 

It took the fifth year for Timothée to get back on track for himself. Nicole sat him down one night to talk about university, since Pauline kept the offer up and he’s good to take a part time on the side, although his sister was insisting on covering everything. Their grandmother and Nicole, along with Élodie, will take care of Astrid for the time being. It still didn’t settle with him, but he promised to think about it. 

Timothée handed in an application in a university around their region, but Pauline nudged him to try for one in Paris. It’s a long way from their hometown, and rountrips would cost him roughly two hundred euros. On the other hand, he could move in with Pauline in her two-bedroom flat. She even insisted that he didn’t need to do part time, that way when he wanted to go home for weekends, he wouldn't have such a crowded schedule. Their mom told him that profits from the business he put up were good, and he can still work on it from a distance. 

It was a long, dragging discussion, but Astrid concluded it by approving the plan. Timothée didn’t think she understood it completely, but children have a way of simplifying things. She told him to FaceTime every night, and visit every weekend, because she’s also going to prep school during weekdays. It wasn't like that at all, but Timothée felt like it could work. Some sacrifices would be made, but finally he agreed. 

At twenty-six, Timothée enrolls in a bachelor’s degree in early childhood education. It’s fun and tormenting to learn about Astrid’s stage but away from her. To his surprise, Astrid adjusts very well to the distance. It’s probably a given since she grew up with a lot of people around. It makes things easier on his end, but he still travels home as often as he can. Astrid has been to Paris multiple times, so Timothée brings her anything from the city. Sometimes, their mother would bring her and spend the weekend with them in Pauline’s unit. 

The two bedroom apartment is a testament on how well Pauline is earning. Timothée feels beyond proud of how well his sister glides through life, especially considering the slump they were in just five years ago. She even travels some time and brings whoever in the family is free. It’s a good life. 

Timothée’s trajectory is revolving around his daughter, and also a career in education. One time, they glazed over a conversation about putting her in home school just for the first couple of years. Astrid’s opinion got asked, and she turned it down. It felt like a silly question after she responded. Of course, she wouldn’t want that. She’s far too extroverted to remain holed up in the house. 

Even though it’s still far down the road, he’s already contemplating moving out of their countryside home. Lyon or Paris are his choices, both for Astrid’s education and his career. It’ll probably take even longer to get there, since being a teacher isn’t really the highest paying job, but if it’s just the two of them then it can’t be that hard. Besides, Timothée knows a thing or two about working multiple jobs. He’ll be approaching thirty by then, hopefully wiser than he was at twenty-one. 

_ “We’re celebrating,”  _ Pauline announces as she walks in.

_ “What happened?”  _ Timothée closes his laptop. The assignment can wait. 

_ “I got handpicked by the team from the U.S. I’ll be representing my company - actually me and four other people, but I was asked for specifically - for the meeting next week.”  _ Pauline has already plucked out a bottle of champagne.  _ “I’m going to make it rain in the dough!”  _

Timothée laughs, abandoning his school works completely and accepting the flute from Pauline.  _ “Please, whatever you do, don’t buy Astrid unnecessary gifts.”  _

_ “Oh, hush you.”  _ Pauline slaps him on the arm, laughing.  _ “Let me be the fun aunt and drink your champagne. Are you free this weekend?”  _

Timothée pauses to run through his schedule.  _ “Yeah, sure. Are you planning something?”  _

_ “Yep,”  _ she replies cheerfully as she opens her phone to show the French Alps.  _ “Remember when we went? I found the hotel dad took us to. Do you think it’ll be good?” _

Timothée’s chest clenched at the memory.  _ “This weekend?”  _

Pauline nods excitedly. 

_ “Just in time for mom’s birthday. You’d have her in tears.”  _ Timothée responds as he takes the phone and browses through it. 

_ “We’ll bring grandma and Astrid with us.”  _ Pauline stops and wonders.  _ “I’ll see if Élodie will come.”  _

The Sixt-Fer-à-Cheval offers more outdoor activities like hiking, mountain biking, skiing and fishing. It’s just as scenic as Timothée remembers, with its spectacular limestone mountain and abundant waterfalls. The moment Nicole realizes where they are, she breaks down in tears and hugs everyone in the family. Once they get past the initial hit of nostalgia, Pauline gets the celebration in full swing, bringing out the cake and paying for a wonderful dinner overlooking the falls. 

It’s a perfect getaway for Astrid. It’s clear how much she likes to be in the countryside, and it slightly worries Timothée when he plans on moving them to bigger cities in the future. He’s sure they can figure a way around it as they go, but it’s apparently true that being a parent puts you in a constant state of worrying. 

Their grandmother is mostly content with sightseeing with Élodie. Astrid keeps them both entertained by bringing all sorts of finds, from unique rocks to flowers. Though they’ve gone to countless trips already over the course of five years, Timothée thinks this is the most memorable to date. It’s fun and light and warm, especially with the touch of their father’s memory on their mother’s birthday. 

For Pauline, their weekend getaway was the calm before the storm. Once they get back in Paris, she’s immediately neck-deep in work that Timothée doesn’t see her until late at night, dead on her feet and collapsing right away. His exams just finished, so the worst part of his semester is over. It leaves him with more time on his hands to get things done in the flat. Over the years, he’s improved in cooking, although he can’t somehow get past breakfast food. Pauline is quite the health buff, so she can be fed with salad. Timothée also takes care of the grocery for the time being, then sends ideas and crafts to his mom for the business. Astrid is a huge part of it, not in the creative sense, but only the publicity. Everyone in their town knows and loves her; would drop by their shop just to chat or coo at her and in the end get some flowers. 

The week goes like that for the two of them. Timothée has gotten used to little notes left all over the apartment; reminders to pay the bills, buy milk, fold the laundry. According to her, it’s a week-long thing, so when out of the blue, Pauline texts him in the middle of his FaceTime with Astrid, it comes as a surprise. It’s the last night; she’s supposed to be in a meeting. If it’s concluded, Timothée assumes there’s going to be a celebration of sorts. 

_ You free?  _ The text reads. 

Timothée feels quite nervous. The chances of the deal not working out is slim, according to her, but the way she’s asking makes him worry. 

_ Yes, do you need me?  _

_ Sort of? Up to you, though. _

At least he knows it’s not a bad thing. 

_ What do you mean? Did something go wrong?  _ Timothée sits up, his intuition not coming down. 

_ No, actually we closed it. It’s just the big man on the other side. He asked if I have a brother?  _

Another text comes in before he can respond. 

_ His name is Armand Hammer. He said you used to work for him but disappeared suddenly.  _

Timothée feels the air leave his lungs. With shaking hands, he asks  _ What does he want?  _

_ He asked if he could see you.  _

So Armie doesn’t know about Astrid yet. Of course Pauline won’t just give away information like that, boss or not. Timothée calls for his mother and tells her he needs to meet Pauline, something unexpected came up but nothing to worry about. 

_ Now?  _ Timothée doesn’t know if he wants to, but the fact that he’s already moving says a lot. 

_ Let me ask him.  _

The fact that his sister and the father of his child are in the same room, talking, is messing up his guts. He feels as though the sky has fallen, at the same time it opened. Astrid hasn’t begun asking for a father, but she will soon. Timothée can’t even put a name on what he’s feeling at the moment. 

_ Mr. Hammer said it’s up to you. He told me to tell you that he’ll leave you alone now if you’re uncomfortable.  _

Timothée whimpers, his sob escaping him though he gets a hold of it before he can completely break down in tears. How Armie still considers him like this is beyond him. Timothée wouldn’t even hold it against him if he’s angry, but on top of asking politely to meet, he’s giving Timothée a chance to turn him away. 

_ Timothée, I swear to God. Did you at least hand in your resignation? You rude asshole.  _

It’s going to be a messy night, but it’s bound to happen. The first thing he’s concerned about is if he’s still married. One step at a time, and he’ll start there. 

_ Send me the address.  _

To nobody’s surprise, they’re in the expensive side of Paris; the tourist spot, the art and fashion district, the pretentious facet of the city. Timothée at least tries to put himself together; wear a nice shirt, trousers, boots, throw on a coat. He gets in a cab with his stomach twisting in knots. He even brings his scent blockers, just in case, even though he just took one before he left the flat. He thinks of Astrid, his top priority, and wonders if there ever will be a ‘good’ time to introduce them. Surely, it can be better than this. 

Then, he thinks of Armie. He thinks of how Pauline getting handpicked to be in the team by his side could have anything to do with the fact that Armie was looking for him. Most likely. It’s not going to sit well with Pauline, but that’s another story entirely. Timothée wonders if Armie searched for him before this; he wonders how hard he was sought out, what he had done, when he knew it was time to give up. It’s irrational, yet a part of Timothée wants to hold it against him that he’s not found, even if he’s the one who ran away to another country without once looking back. 

Timothée pushes it down, along with all the other toxic bullshit he fed through their relationship. He has Astrid now, and if things don’t go as bad, then Armie will meet his daughter, too. He has to try and be better. Better than he was five years ago. Better than what the vindictive voice in his head is telling him to be. There are far more important things at stake for him now. 

When the cab pulls up to the address, Timothée pays and gives a polite smile. There’s no going back now. He belatedly realizes that he’s shaking, so he thought of going to the restroom first, maybe splash his face with water, listen to affirmations he never once believed in and doesn’t even have in his phone; literally anything to buy himself some time. His entire being is equal parts thrilled and terrified to see Armie again. If it’s solely for him, it feels like a no brainer, but the consequences. 

That’s rich, coming from him. 

_ “Timothée!”  _ Pauline calls out from his side.  _ “I thought you changed your mind. Come on, he stayed behind in the room.”  _

Timothée walks up to his sister and greets her with a kiss on the cheek.  _ “Did he say anything else?”  _

Pauline leads him inside.  _ “Nothing much, just that if you’re not comfortable, I shouldn’t force you. How did you meet?”  _

Trust Armie to still be all about him despite getting abandoned with no explanation. 

_ “Saw me at the bar, then the cafe.”  _ He answers, though he can barely hear himself over the loud pounding in his chest. 

_ “Were you close? He seems familiar with you.”  _

Understatement. Armie had his tongue in places none of his family members has seen since he was in primary school. 

_ “So to speak. Wait-” _ Timothée grabs at his sister’s hand just as she’s about to open the door. 

Puzzled, Pauline stops and turns to him.  _ “What even happened?”  _

_ “Just, like, don’t freak out.”  _ He answers, twiddling his thumbs.  _ “We might not get along?”  _

Pauline is alarmed right away. She moves towards him, likely planning to drag him away, but Timothée puts his hand on the doorknob and twists it open. Pauline squeaks behind him and lets out a string of profanities for taking her by surprise like that. She catches on immediately, but not without her limbs flailing everywhere. 

“Mr. Hammer,” she greets politely. “My brother, Timothée Chalamet.” 

It’s been five years, yet all his ardent training to getting used to Armie’s absence did nothing to soften the blow of seeing him again. He’s still in the same smart suits, still obnoxiously tall, even more dashing than he remembers with his hair swept back and stubble following the angles of his face. Timothée takes in the sight of him, stunned and devastated, then thinks of Astrid. They look so much like each other than he doesn’t think he’ll ever shake it off. 

Armie had always been better with control between the two of them, so it was a surprise how openly frantic he looks when he faces them; how out of control he seems with his scent going haywire and his expression mirroring it perfectly. 

“Timothée.” He says simply, and Timothée feels scolded to his core. 

Pauline looks back and forth, catching on the tension in the air. “Is something wrong?” 

Timothée turns to her, unsure if she should be here for this or not. “It’s fine we just didn’t part on good terms.” 

“Understatement,” Armie snaps, grabbing the bottled water from the desk and chugging it down. 

“I have a good reason why.” Timothée feels angry all of a sudden, his usual defense mechanism rising immediately. 

“Please, do tell.” Armie responds, his fist clenching around the emptied plastic that it crumples. 

Pauline tugs at his sleeve, panicked. “Wait - what are you guys-”

“It’s fine, Pauline. It’s just some bad blood.” The entire room heats up with the way Armie’s scent flares with rage at Timothée’s dismissal. He flinches, but it’s already out. 

“Bad blood?” Armie repeats, outraged. “You  _ abandoned  _ me.” 

It’s not hard to put two and two together from here. The suspicion is clear all over Pauline’s face, but she’s too shell-shocked to verbalize anything. 

“What do you want? An apology?” Timothée hates himself right after it leaves his mouth. The bile rises to his throat, but there’s no escaping Armie’s fury when it occupies more than half of the room. 

“You drove me away and went out with another man the first time and then you locked me out of your life on the second and then you left me a third time after you _claimed_ me. You left _me_ again and again, and I ran to you without fail. I just need-” Armie cuts himself off when he hears his voice rising. Turning away, he presses the heels of his palms in his eyes and hisses. “Won’t you just talk to me? Even just a goodbye.” 

Timothée feels as though a knife is stabbed right through his chest and the blade is twisted sadistically. He looks down, ashamed and with no excuses for it. 

“I - well, so uhm,” Pauline glances around, mortified to be caught in the middle of the confrontation. “I’ll go.” She looks between them one last time then goes towards the door. 

Timothée catches her by the wrist as she’s about to leave.  _ “I’m going to tell you something, but don’t tell mom or grandma yet. At least let me get things straight with him.”  _

_ “Jesus, you broke his heart!”  _ Pauline exclaims in utter shock.  _ “What the hell, Timothee? That’s like, my boss! Our boss!”  _

Might as well just rip the bandaid.  _ “He’s the father. Go.”  _

Pauline gapes for an entire moment. He widens his eyes at her, urging her to leave. She scampers out, probably grateful to get away and have a couple of peaceful moments to process what just happened. 

“Armie, I need you to be calm.” Timothée steps closer to Armie where he sits on the chair. “We’re in public.” 

They’re in a conference hall, but still. He hasn't changed with how vicious and manipulative he is when dealing with Armie. It’s as though five years of making himself better for Astrid went down the drain. 

Armie no longer has the same anger that he did when Timothée walked in. Instead, the alpha is just shaken up and hurt. Timothée expected him to lash out more, maybe take a jab or two, pick on their wounds, anything. 

“Why?” Armie simply asks, resigned. 

“I needed to leave, right away. I didn’t want to be held back.” Timothée can’t talk about Astrid yet, not when they’re frenzied with their emotions like this. 

Armie sighs loudly then puts his face in his hands. “You couldn’t even send a text? Tell me goodbye?” 

Timothée knows that he would’ve told Armie more than just that if he called five years ago. “It’s complicated.” 

“Then explain to me.” Armie moves his hands away, but he’s still resting his elbows on his knees while he looks down on the floor. 

Not yet. “We have a lot of talking to do, you and me both.” 

Armie holds his hand up. No ring. “I’ll start. Liz and I divorced right after you left. I looked for you, but I couldn’t ask  _ anyone.  _ No one knew about us, not your coworkers, or that Irish woman, or your landlady. Even that bartender you worked with. I couldn’t find you anywhere; not even in the Upper West Side address you gave Dr. Howard.” 

Every word tears at Timothée, which is quite a wonder, since it’s exactly what he thought he wanted to hear on his way. Now that he knows, it just made him feel even worse. It’s always a new low for him when it comes to Armie, although admittedly, he has his fair share as to why that is. 

“I didn’t want to be found.” Timothée answers. “I was afraid that talking to you would change my mind.” 

Armie scoffs but he nods anyway. “If you were just done, you could’ve told me.” He turns his face to look at Timothée. “I never once forced myself on you. I would’ve kept my distance if only you  _ asked. _ ” 

Timothée knows. It wasn’t just Armie, it was himself, too. He never thinks he’s strong enough to stand his ground against the alpha. 

“What do you want now?”

“What do I  _ want? _ When it comes to you, when did I ever get what I want?” 

Timothée is aware Armie means it in a different way, but it’s hard to stay logical when all the things he never had the courage to deal with are getting dug right under his feet. 

“We literally functioned based only on what  _ you  _ want.” Timothée whips around angrily, pointing an accusing finger at him. “It’s because of  _ you  _ wanting things that led us to absolute shit.” 

Armie shifts his stare to the ground, his shoulder slumping. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

The sincerity broke Timothée’s heart. Armie leans against the back of the chair; his face towards the ceiling. He huffs in disbelief and shakes his head. 

“I’m sorry I brought your sister in this. I found her name and I didn’t think I could pass on the lead to see you again.” Armie fixes him with a stare, visibly more controlled now but not any less emotional. “You can leave now. I’m really sorry.” 

In hindsight, Armie never would’ve gone to that conclusion if only Timothée hadn’t worn blockers. As it happens, he’s stupidly on the defensive when everything was kickstarted by him abandoning Armie without even a word of goodbye. It’s all up to him now, and he’s allowed to walk away and keep Armie in the dark for as long as he wants. 

“Is that what you want?” Timothée asks, kinder this time. 

Armie recognizes it but doesn’t take it. “It doesn’t matter.” 

“Why?” 

“You have your own life now. Hell, you probably even have a partner. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking; asking to see you and all that like I can just walk right back into your life.” Armie visibly thinks himself silly, shaking his head as he listens to the statement he said. 

The truth is, he can. Timothée even wants him to, even though he’s too proud to admit it. “So you want to return to my life?” 

“Timothée, how can you still not know?” Armie sighs again, exasperated. “I  _ never _ wanted to leave. You forced me out every single time. I should’ve gotten the hint, but I clung to everything I got from you, big or small.” 

It’s heartbreakingly true. “How do you plan on that? I live in France.” 

“Well, I did admit that I didn’t think this one through.” 

“How long are you in France?” 

Suddenly, Armie becomes sheepish. “Uh, six weeks.” 

Timothée raises a brow at him, prompting him to explain. 

“I told you, I didn’t think this through.” Armie repeats. “I followed this deal because it was Paris-based international banking. It was a sliver of hope but I snooped around and found Pauline Chalamet. I would’ve gone and contacted her, but the deal pushed through. I was kind of hopeful to see you again, so I booked six weeks.” 

“To what?” 

“I don’t know.” Armie shrugs. “But I was sure it was going to be difficult. I wanted some time, whichever way it goes.” 

Timothée thinks of Astrid. Armie still has five weeks left before he has to go. It’s the last two weeks in university before the term is over. It’s enough time to introduce them and spend time together. 

“And you want to see me?” He sits on the edge of the table, waiting for Armie to look at him. “Is it a one last time type of deal? Are you looking for closure?” 

Armie grimaces at him, offended at the implication. “No, I’m not setting you up again.” He clearly has more things to say but thinks the better of it.

“I’m in university now, with two more weeks until the term is over.” Timothée knows he should get them moving himself. He can’t keep sending Armie mixed signals and expect him to stick around after everything he’s been put through. “Who’s with you?”

Armie is cautious, but the fact that he can’t stop gravitating towards Timothée hasn’t changed. “I stayed behind.” Still, he meets Timothée’s eyes and asks “Can I see you?”

_ Yes, of course. I have so much to tell you. We have a daughter. Her name is Astrid and she’s four.  _ Timothée swallows them all down. It has to wait. 

“Sure,” he says, then holds his phone out to Armie. 

Armie visibly perks up but tries to keep it under. Then, he gives his personal details now, unlike the ones they used during their time together. It’s very telling of how different it is  _ now.  _ Timothée types a message and sends it. 

“I need to get back to my sister. She’ll have questions.” Timothée prepares to leave; his heart heavy with all the things he didn’t say. 

Armie nods, understanding. “I’ll have to apologize to her as well. Please let me know if she’s alright with me contacting her?” 

Of course he’ll concern himself with that. Timothée can’t believe how little Armie has changed since the last time they saw each other. 

“Sure,” he replies with a curt smile. “I’ll see you around.” 

Armie watched him leave. To this day, he’s still longing for Timothée as he goes. It’s heartbreaking. 

To his surprise, Pauline doesn’t try to pry now that she’s regained her composure. It puts him off, smelling her wariness but not seeing it directed towards anything. It’s just a buzz around the air until they make it back to the flat. 

_ “Do you want to order in?”  _ Timothée starts, because Pauline looks more and more in shock.

_ “I don’t know where to start.”  _ Pauline tells him, dumbfounded.  _ “Did I get hand picked because he wanted to see you after you left him?”  _

Timothée flinches.  _ “No, he says it was a done deal, even before he asked for you.”  _

Armie definitely did not say anything about that, but it’ll have to do. 

Waving, Pauline stands up to dismiss the discussion.  _ “This isn’t about me.” _ She declares, walking up to him.  _ “That’s Astrid’s father.”  _

Sighing, Timothée gives a nod and slumps on the chair.  _ “Yes.” _

_ “You got pregnant five years ago. Back then, he was still married to Elizabeth Hammer.”  _ Of course Pauline would background check the partners. It’s protocol. 

_ “Well, there you go.”  _

_ “What happened there?”  _

Timothée scoffs at her.  _ “Is it not obvious? We had an affair.”  _

_ “Is that it?”  _ Pauline prompts, crossing her arms across her chest. 

_ “What do you want me to say? Defend myself? That’s it! I got tangled with a married man and left when he knocked me up.”  _ Timothée responds, agitated. 

Pauline isn’t having it. She walks right to his front and points a finger at him.  _ “There’s more to it than that, I know it. Or else, you wouldn’t have raised Astrid like you’re preparing to introduce them.”  _

_ “There’s no excusing any of it-” _

_ “I’m not making you excuse yourself. I want you to make sense of the situation!”  _

Timothée swore on his life that he would take the whole truth to his grave. It runs too deep. The money helped to get them through a difficult time. He doesn’t think he can handle how they would react if they knew just how he earned it. 

_ “They’re in a weird place in their marriage at that time and they’re practically picking up the pieces on the floor.”  _ Timothée begins, much calmer this time. 

Pauline hums.  _ “I heard she had a long-standing affair.”  _

So it wasn’t such a well-kept secret then. 

_ “Yeah, that.”  _ Timothée takes a deep breath before proceeding.  _ “We scent bonded. Instantaneous. It spiraled from there.” _

_ “You broke his heart.”  _ Pauline points out sharply. 

It was obvious to anyone who could see. Armie made no effort to hide it, and Timothée acted pretty harshly during the confrontation. 

_ “It has to be done. I’m not putting myself between him and his wife.”  _

_ “It was a doomed marriage. You probably had been the last push he needed.”  _

It was kind, how Pauline is offering him this bit of absolution even though there’s hardly any other way to go about it. Timothée has come to terms with the fact that he was a third-party as he had an affair with Armie for eight months. He’s internalized and accepted that long before it crashed to the ground and burned to ashes. It was that, and his indifference and dismissal to the wife that he never allowed to exist outside of his awareness. It was such a fragile fantasy. 

_ “I left him with my contact details.”  _ Timothée confesses silently.  _ “He’ll stay around for five more weeks. I haven’t told him about Astrid, but I’m thinking of introducing them after my term.”  _

Pauline’s support of the decision is evident with the way she lights up.  _ “Oh thank God. I thought you had no plans to, especially with the way he reconnected with you.”  _

Timothée swears to approach this as healthily as he can. It’s not looking good with how he started with Armie, but he’ll try harder.  _ “This one’s not up to me. The least I can do is be careful about it.”  _

_ “True. I mean, now that I know he’s the father.”  _ Pauline blows out air like she’s just taking in the weight of the news.  _ “She’s so much like him. I can’t imagine how you dealt with that all these years.”  _

Repression is the answer. Out of sight, out of mind. Timothée allows the subject to die down and venture into lighter territories. Pauline doesn’t make him open up further than that, probably letting him navigate the relationship since it’s very tricky. He appreciates the trust, and he knows there’s not much room for error here. 

During the weekend, Armie contacts him to meet up for coffee. Timothée doesn’t really have anything urgent coming up, so he agrees to go late in the afternoon when he knows Astrid would be occupied with other things. For good measure, he sends a message to his mother that he’s heading out so he can’t take calls until evening. 

The tension in the air between them is too thick to ignore. Timothée knows that one careless quip will set it alight, and before he knows it everything will be burning again. Armie is painfully aware of it too, but worse in dealing with it. He just sits across Timothée like he’s summoned to testify in court. 

“Let’s just catch up first?” Timothée suggests, sipping his coffee.

Armie follows his lead. “Of course.” 

“You first.” No matter how many times Timothée puts together a narrative, anything but the truth proves to be difficult to get out when he’s in the moment. 

Despite the obvious deflection, Armie still does as he’s told. “Like I said, Liz and I divorced. I think I understand you better now; leaving with no explanation. The moment I realized you were gone, I filed it and only let my lawyer do everything. I couldn’t risk getting talked out of it.” He stops to drink his coffee and contemplates what to say next. “I gave myself a year to look for you, just so I can say I didn’t give up just like that.” 

It’s his turn now. To follow Armie’s timeline is to reveal Astrid. It could be Timothée fishing for excuses to put it off, but he wants Armie to be in her life because he wants to, not because he’s guilted into staying. 

“Liz stopped by the cafe to talk to me. She said once my claim fades, you two would try to have a family. I didn’t want to be a homewrecker.” Timothée watches Armie nod. He already knows this. 

“She told me, too. I wanted to meet you that night but you said you had translation to work on. I thought it could still wait.” Armie is staring off at a distance, the lines on his face defined by his frown. 

It couldn’t. In less than twenty-four hours, Timothée had packed his bags and booked a flight to France. He knows they’re thinking of the exact same thing.

“I’m sorry, for what it’s worth.” Timothée offers. 

Armie shakes his head with a sad smile. “All the ways we could’ve done things differently are behind us now.” 

“So this  _ is  _ goodbye?” Timothée feels torn about having taken his blockers. It turns out, he can’t even communicate with Armie without the help of his biology. 

Armie’s scent flares in dissatisfaction, but he holds it back. “I do not feel entitled to you, or any part of your life. I kept telling myself that I just need to hash this out; to get us to spill our guts until we can come clean. I realized now that I’m not entitled to that, either.” He raises his eyes to stare at Timothée. “You’re right. You’re under no obligation to be around and explain to me.” 

Except that Timothée should. For more than just the two of them. 

“You still have five weeks.” Timothée already feels the char in his insides returning to life. “Why don’t we just spend it while it lasts?” 

“And then what?” Armie is apprehensive about it, to say the least. 

They both know it’s another set up that will burn them inside out. Old habits do die hard, it turns out. 

“And then this time, you’ll be the one to leave.” 

It’s at this point that he knows all he can do is keep on tearing them apart; that all that Armie had gotten wrong back then were the circumstances, but everything that went south were Timothée’s doing. Armie isn’t even vengeful, yet it’s the only outcome that Timothée is giving him. It’s the age old dilemma of Timothée asking Armie to jump off the cliff but the alpha will only ask how high. 

Yet again, Armie jumps on his own accord. “I’ll take it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another thing, I redid this entire thing over and over because I don’t want to time skip to five years, but I can’t seem to arrange the plot points I mapped out to cut the time short. So there. Thank you for leaving comments! Y’all so sweet. I promise I try to proofread as much as I can so sorry for the error that are left around.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao i, too, am tired of this angsty shit hole i wrote, so here’s some domestic nonsense for once

Five years seem to have changed everything and nothing between them. They’re still ridiculously drawn to each other, though toned down by Timothée’s blockers, and they still somehow can’t agree on anything to save their day. There’s still a thrum in the air whenever they’re in the same space. Timothée still catches himself staring far too long at Armie; whether they’re just hanging out or talking. He still feels his head swim from breathing in the scent of the alpha, still finds himself wondering how his touch would feel if they’re skin to skin. If his observations are anything to go by, Armie isn’t doing any better. Timothée keeps an eye on the alpha through reflections; sees the same longing in his eyes that’s evident on his scent. Armie, for his part, doesn’t shy away from baring himself. 

_ “What should I get started for you two love birds?”  _ The street food vendor cheerfully greets, smiling at them. 

Timothée points to almond pretzels.  _ “Geez, we can’t even stay friends.”  _

How simple things would’ve been if only they were. Armie just watches all around, not caring about the conversation since he’s unaware that it’s about him. 

_ “Well, I’d recommend it.”  _ The vendor quips lightheartedly, preparing the order. 

_ “Nah, I’d just ruin him.”  _

_ “Eh? He looks into that type of thing.”  _

Timothée snorts. Well, from experience, true. It’s thrilling how Armie is transparent even to the strangers who see them. 

Yet still, despite their attraction, they just can’t get along. Timothée has gotten riled up from talking about the time for their next meet up. Armie bought the entire selection off of a patisserie because he kept criticizing the alpha’s taste. They keep on getting on each other’s very last nerve and tap dance on it. 

Timothée tries to move and gets hit by one of the paper bags. “Dude, watch out,” he snaps, irked by the sheer amount of pastry. 

“Right, sorry. I totally wanted to hit you with the ciabatta.” Armie retorts back, lifting it over his head to let him pass. 

Glaring, Timothée juts his head to gesture him inside the shop. “Won’t you just move?” 

“I don’t know, won’t you just stop picking on me?” Armie puts his hand on his hip, the bags getting pushed upward by his leg. 

Timothée points a finger. “Only if you get rid of your terrible hat.” 

“I hate your scarf.” Armie shakes his head on his neck where it’s looped. 

Scoffing, Timothée says “How do you think I’m liking your belt?” 

“Take off those boots.” 

“Take off your coat.”

They glared at each other until a group of teenagers cleared their throat behind them, wanting to enter but blocked by the two of them coming at each other’s throats. 

On the other hand, they’re sickeningly careful. They’re evidently walking on thin ice around each other and it’s irritating. Timothée wants to lash out every time he catches Armie second guessing every move, every question, every word. It makes him feel called out that his guilt rises with it. It’s always very specific on their strained chemistry. It’s never something they used to worry about. They used to be so sure of this one thing; their physical dynamics. Now it’s just locked away, and his knee-jerk is to go on the defensive, yet Armie responds with nothing but unfailing patience. 

“You’re jumpy around me.” Timothée glares during their walk. 

Armie looks everywhere but at him. “You have blockers on.” 

“And?” Timothée is just egging on it until it blows up into a fight. 

“I won’t know if it’s actually okay or you’re just being polite.” Armie replies quietly. 

“What’s wrong with that?”

“I don’t want you to be polite.” 

Timothée snorts. “Wow. Remember what happened when we weren’t polite?” 

Armie, despite himself, guffaws. “I get it, okay?” He says. “You hate that I’m careful. I  _ know. _ I’d apologize but you’d hate that, too. I just don’t want to commit a misstep. Not when we’re here.”

Where they are is painfully vague. Timothée doesn’t think he’s ready to set the record straight on that one yet. 

Armie insists on walking him back to Pauline’s flat, which he can’t really refuse because of the sheer amount of bread they have because of a stupid argument in a patisserie. They catch up more about each other’s lives. Timothée tells Armie of his university life; it’s his first year, his program, his future plans. In a way, he wants to use it to drop hints about where he’s going in his life. Timothée is hopeful that Armie can find a way to fit himself in there, or at least work things out. 

Armie visibly withholds some information following his divorce with Liz, not in a sketchy way, but more dismissive. Like it doesn’t matter. It makes Timothée worry, but it’s hard to pry when he knows he’s doing the exact same thing. The whole way home just consists of them trading the ones they’re willing to share. It’s quite alright. It’s only the first of a two-week period, and probably a longer one if his luck survives telling Armie that he hid their child from him. 

The building is far nicer than the ones Timothée had in Flatbush. He tells Armie that he’s dependent on Pauline right now, although he managed to put up that plants and flowers business. It delights Armie to hear that. The fact that the money was from his stint as in sex work isn’t mentioned. 

“Do you want to come in?” Timothée offers absently, unlocking the door. 

Thankfully, Armie doesn’t make a fuss out of it. Shrugging, he answers “I won’t stay long. It can’t be comfortable for your sister to have her boss hanging around. I’ll just say a few words.” 

Timothée nods his head, letting him in. “Pauline?” He calls out. 

_ “Here!”  _ Pauline answers from her room.  _ “How was -  _ oh hi, sir.” Self-conscious, she starts brushing her hair with her hands and shifting on her feet. 

Armie gives a polite wave, setting down the ridiculous amount of bread. “Good evening,” he greets. “And sorry about dragging you in between me and your brother.” 

Pauline scrunches her nose and stops fidgeting. “Well, true. It would’ve been nice to know I got picked for other reasons.” 

“You did,” Armie raises a brow at her, confused. “It’s sort of like scouting. You’re young and new in the scene. Business people are nosy.” 

It made Pauline preen. At least she knows that bit now. “Oh okay, cool. I really thought for a second there,” she trails off then waves around. 

Timothée busies himself with arranging the pastries in the kitchen. Armie and Pauline launch into a discussion about business and economics, which is about the first time that he’s seen the two of them in their element. Armie gives Pauline endless tips and notes, praising where she did well and mentioning her points of improvement. Pauline appreciates it greatly, taking in everything with eager eyes and focused stare. 

True to his word, Armie leaves shortly after their discussion dies down. He shakes Pauline’s hand and only gives a small smile to Timothée as he goes. 

_ “Why did you buy so much bread?”  _ Pauline asks, breaking off a piece of the baguette and eating it. 

Timothée sighs.  _ “I hate his stupid taste. He bought the entire selection to shut me up.”  _

Pauline snorts then laughs.  _ “Already telling of the father he might be.”  _

_ “Well fuck.”  _

Over the following two weeks, they meet up pretty regularly. A couple of times, Timothée was picked up from university and then they would go to dinner or Armie would hang around while he did errands. It gave them time to reacquaint themselves, as well as get to know each other in ways that they didn’t when they were in an arrangement. Armie is still a health buff, and for that he’s going to get along even better with Pauline. What Timothée doesn’t know is that he genuinely enjoys cooking and preparing food. He thought the alpha only did it out of fear of blocking an artery with the amount of takeouts they got. Armie found it strangely endearing that Timothée can’t seem to ask any staff for anything. Not in the hardware, or the grocery, or the clothes store. He can’t even ask for salt and pepper when they went to eat one time. 

Timothée realized that these are the little things that fly over their heads. It’s one thing to have a rule about never asking about each other’s personal lives, but another when they don’t seem to know a thing or two about the other outside of bed. Armie has always been better at keeping track of it, but those were still mostly confined to sexual activities, before and after. Which he can’t really fault them for. The complications are just truly showing themselves now. It’s a weird transition, especially with a five year break and a child somewhere along. 

It’s not the first time that Timothée had been away from their hometown for weeks at a time. Astrid had her moments. There had been a few nights when she didn’t want to talk to Timothée until he promised to come back soon. To placate her, he told her that he’s bringing home a surprise. Every night since then, she tried to guess what it was. If things went south, he can always buy her a new toy and keep her happy with it. 

Armie has visited Pauline’s flat a couple of times too, though he never really stayed. It probably had a lot to do with Timothée’s scent all around despite wearing blockers. He appreciated Armie’s self control, but a part of him wanted to push the alpha a little over, just to check. 

Old habits truly die hard. If he’s not careful, Timothée knows for sure that they’ll be back in the same old bullshit. 

The two weeks flew past them just like that and now it’s nearly up. Term is over, and Pauline stands over him as he packs his stuff, preparing to travel back to Le Chambon-sur-Lignon in a couple of days. 

_ “How are things looking up?”  _ She questions with a raised brow. 

_ “With?”  _ Timothée knows perfectly that they’re about Armie. 

Pauline rolls her eyes with a huff. She helps him fold his clothes into the bag.  _ “If you’re really about to bring Armie with us, we need to give mom and grandma a heads up.”  _

_ “I haven’t talked to him about it.”  _

_ “Then do.”  _

Pauline meets his eyes. Timothée sighs and leans back against the couch. 

_ “Timothée,”  _ she says firmly.  _ “It’s time. You’ve bought yourself enough time.”  _

_ “It’s still a few days.”  _

In reality, Timothée is terrified. This has to be the last straw. Armie will definitely blow up all over him. Maddeningly enough, they’ve settled in a more relaxed dynamic over time. Armie no longer tries to hide when he stares too long. Timothée stopped feeling like he shouldn’t give away too many smiles. They can build a proper banter without wanting to claw each other’s eyes out. Sometimes, they still do, but rare now. Armie even messaged him first thing when he woke up. Not some cheesy ‘good morning’ message. It’s anything under the sun. The people who whispered behind him when he jogged. The breakfast in his hotel. When he spilled sauce on his sheets. They even kept up a conversation throughout their days. Not overly chatty. Just little things they would’ve commented under their breaths that they’d gotten used to telling each other instead. 

If anything, it builds Timothée’s resolution to work on Armie, no matter what. He’s much more sincere than Timothée has ever been, and that alone earns him the right to know about Astrid and be a part of her life. 

“I’m leaving for my hometown in two days.” Timothée blurts out as they snack on crepes while sitting on the park bench. 

Armie’s scent immediately deflates. “I know.” 

“You still have three weeks.” Timothée points out, keeping his eyes trained on the pigeons on the ground. 

“I do.” Armie sighs and turns his body slightly to face him. “I was hoping to spend it with you.” 

Timothée looks back at him. “Why?” 

_ Why are we still doing this?  _ It didn’t need to be said. Armie knows exactly what he’s asking. 

“I have like a very slight crush on you, I don’t know.” Armie deadpans. 

Timothée bursts out laughing. “Is it my way with words?” 

“Definitely. I love it when you stutter to order.” Armie matches his sarcasm perfectly. 

Timothée hits him lightly on the arm, still laughing. “You’re a douchebag.” 

Armie laughs, but his eyes turn solemn quickly. He stares again, this time not holding himself back. His hand reaches forward and brushes his curls away from his face. It makes Timothée blush, but the moment is just right. 

“Do you really?” Timothée asks shyly. 

When Armie just keeps staring, he realizes the alpha is just waiting for him to complete the question. The answer is already in his eyes. 

“Even outside an arrangement?” He clarifies. 

It makes Armie smile, like he’s pleased that Timothée articulated it. “Of course, I want you. You’re all I wanted all these years.”

“What are you gonna do about it?” 

“Honestly? I don’t know. You’re settled here in France and I’m in the U.S. I have no idea how to ask you because I don’t know how to convince you that it’ll get us somewhere.” 

Timothée knows this is it. His heart pounds so loudly in his chest that he won’t be surprised if it can be heard. “Do you want to come with me?” 

Armie blinks in surprise, his strokes stopping. He’s shocked but delighted about it. “To meet your family?” 

“This is the bit where you’ll finally hate me.” Timothée blurts out, his anxiousness getting to him. 

“Try me.” Armie doesn’t sound fazed. 

Timothée doesn’t want to. Not anymore. He’s not sure if his luck would survive this at all. “I need you to promise to listen to me, even after I tell you.” 

“Ah, shit.” Armie breathes out loudly, slumping on the bench. “Is this the bit where you tell me you actually have a partner and you just felt bad for me all this time?” 

Timothée’s heart clenches, touched with just how willingly Armie bares his feelings even if he’s proven himself to be careless with it. “No, but I do have someone to introduce.” 

Armie looks at him, intrigued. If his scent is anything to go by, then he’s raking his brain for every possible outcome of this conversation. 

Before he could arrive at the correct conclusion, Timothée speaks. “The actual reason why I just disappeared on you was because I got pregnant. I didn’t want you to feel obliged to anything, and I didn’t want for us to be in your life if all we can be are intruders.” 

It takes several moments before Armie recovers and resumes his breathing. He remains astounded for the most part. Timothée waits for his anger until he smells it. He braces himself, but Armie sets it aside. 

Out of his own panic, Timothée keeps talking. “Her name is Astrid and she’s four. She looks like you; blonde, blue-eyed. Great skin. Born looking expensive.” 

The description forces a huff of humorless laugh from Armie. “I’ve hung around you for two weeks,” he says through gritted teeth.  _ Why didn’t you say anything _ hangs heavily in the air. 

“It’s not just you and me. There’s a  _ child. _ I needed to at least make sure I’m not just guilting you into anything because if that’s the case I might as well just broke the news five years ago and tore you and Liz apart.” Timothée answers heatedly, but comes down immediately after Armie gives another resigned sigh. “Sorry, I didn't mean to raise my voice.” 

Armie spends a few seconds steadying his breathing before turning his head to face him again. “Would you have told me?” 

“Yes.” Timothée answers with certainty. 

Armie nods. “She’s with your mom and grandmother?” 

Timothée doesn’t know where this is going from here. “Yes.” 

Armie gives another nod. “I’m guessing you never told her about me?” 

“Nobody knows.” Timothée admits. “Not even your name. Pauline does, but just after you showed up.” 

“Why?” The question is neutral, like Armie just wants to work through this information. 

“I’d rather keep everyone in the dark than have anyone say a bad thing about my daughter’s father in front of her.” Timothée replies. “If they know nothing, then no opinion.” 

Armie just nods again and Timothée wants to flip the bench over. 

“Is that all?” He asks, irate for some reasons. 

“I have a million things in my mind. Not all of it is good, definitely most shouldn’t be said.” Armie fixes him with a stare. “I haven’t gotten past my shock, and I want to tell you I understand, but I can’t help being angry.” 

Timothée keeps his head low. He doesn’t deserve the consideration. “How are you still handling this? You should be screaming at me by now.”

“I went to therapy.” Armie casually drops. 

The remorse twists his stomach to knots. 

Armie looks over to him and sighs. “We’ve both had it rough after.” 

It’s true, but Timothée doesn’t think he should take that. He wants to self-destruct so bad now that he’s forced out of thinking only of himself. Armie clearly didn’t have it any easier, then blindsided about having a child, but still extends this amount of consideration. His greatest asset is his kindness; just sheer, unconditional and absolute kindness, even if Timothée has been nothing but an absolute fuck up at every step of the way. 

“Stop it!” Armie scolds him, his own annoyance acting up. “Seriously, quit it. It’s been five years. I’ve gone through the motions. This is just new.” 

It’s a lie. Armie just doesn’t want a confrontation. He probably thinks that he’ll lose his chance of meeting Astrid if he gives Timothée what he deserves. 

Armie rubs his temples with one hand. “Timothée,” he says frustratedly. 

“Let’s go,” Timothée crumples his crepe wrapper and tosses it to the bin. “To the apartment. My blockers are about to wear off.” 

Standing up, Armie gets rid of his own crepe and steps closer to him. “Come here,” he opens his arms. 

Timothée looks up, puzzled. Armie nods, waiting for him to accept the embrace. Tentatively, he walks to Armie’s chest and allows the alpha to hug him. 

“We need to talk. Like, really.  _ Communicate.  _ This is not-” Armie cuts himself off, sighing. “I’m so mad, I can’t even explain it to you, but I get it.” 

“I’m sorry.” Timothée whispers weakly. 

Standing so close offers him the full experience of Armie’s controlled emotions; how he’s just about vibrating with it, how his scent is fluctuating is he’s not consciously keeping it down. It’s probably why they hugged; so Timothée will know without being told. 

“I know, I know.” Armie releases him then puts his hands in his pockets. His entire body is stiff and his jaw is clenched. He opts to turn away instead. “Come on.” 

They walk back to the apartment in silence. It’s better that way. At least Armie gets to have more time to just process everything and calm himself. Timothée doubts it’ll even work, but they need to get this over with. Him, in particular. Pauline was right. He’s bought himself enough time. 

Once inside, the apartment fills with Armie’s frustration. He flops down on the couch, massaging his temples and regulating his breathing. Timothée shrinks into himself but gets moving. He goes to his bedroom and takes the laptop then brings it to the coffee table. 

Shoving his hands in his pocket, Timothée fishes out his phone and scrolls through his gallery. “Here,” he offers the phone. “Don’t worry. I  _ would  _ bring you to her, even if you lash out now.” 

Armie is swiping across the screen, his scent changing into utter wonder, then scowling at Timothée after he hears what he said. “We shouldn’t keep being toxic with each other.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’d look into getting a shrink.” Timothée retorts, pulling the laptop as he sits next to Armie. 

“Timothée,” Armie always has a scolding way of saying his name. 

Sighing, he puts the laptop to his face and hides behind it. “I’m sorry, I’ll be better. I don’t even know why I’m being defensive like this.” 

Armie is very unhappy. The only thing keeping him in check is the pictures on the phone that he’s looking at. 

“I want to be a part of her life. I want to get to know her and spend time with her. I want her to know  _ me,  _ her father.” Armie says firmly, demanding and buzzing with exasperation. “It’s all too much, but this I know. Let’s start there.” 

Timothée nods. He occupies himself with opening his drive where he keeps Astrid’s documentation, from when she was a baby until now. There are clips there as well, ranging from random days to milestones. Without meeting Armie’s eyes, he trades the laptop and takes the phone back. 

Armie catches his wrist along the exchange. “I don’t hate you.” 

Unable to help himself, Timothée whimpers. “Why not?” 

“I’m upset, but I don’t hate you. Of course I won’t.” Armie tells him, moving his hand to his shoulder. “We both went through a lot. These five years weren’t easy on us. It’s no use digging up all that and flinging it to each other.” 

Timothée nods, sniffling. He scoots closer and shows Armie the earliest photos, back when Astrid was just a few days old. Armie has warring emotions as he looks at every single one. He’s breathless and astonished; his fingers trailing over the screen at nearly every frame. The resentment is still there, but only faint in the background. The focus is on the transitioning pictures. Armie even gasps and laughs while watching some clips, particularly when Astrid was getting up on her feet on her own, or when she made a mess eating her cake on her first birthday. 

There are a bunch of shots where Astrid was in the shop surrounded by flowers and a bunch of their patrons. There’s also Nicole and their grandmother, even Élodie. By the time Armie gets to the very last entry, the bitterness is gone from his smell, replaced only by his amazement. 

Armie turns to him. “Come here.” 

Timothée feels too disoriented to do anything else. 

“Thank you,” he says, hugging Timothée tight on his chest. “My God, she’s wonderful.” 

“She cries because we don’t let her keep the worms in the garden as pets.” Timothée hugs Armie back, relieved that it doesn’t go to hell completely. 

Armie laughs. “Really?” There’s tears in his voice. 

“Yes. We got her to eat figs because our grandmother said it’s the food of the gods. She wants to be an angel, I think.” 

“She totally is.” 

“No, she’s not. She chews my hair at night and drools all over my head.” 

“Aww, free gel.” 

Timothée breaks down in tears, burrowing in Armie’s chest. He’s being shushed again with gentle strokes on his hair, though Armie himself is sniffling. It was extremely difficult to get to this point, but it feels good to finally have the weight off his shoulders. Timothée can somehow hear himself apologizing but it sounds distant. They’re rocking back and forth, comforting each other in the embrace. It was the most they’ve touched in the two weeks that Armie has been in France, and it’s evident how unwilling they are to let go. 

It’s not the time to talk about them yet, but Timothée feels more confident now more than ever. It’ll pass, and they’ll get there when they do. 

Pauline finds them later that night, huddled together and browsing through the folders of Astrid’s photos and videos. There’s no explanation needed. Timothée allows his blockers to wear off, and Armie has a better read now. Pauline only had a moment to coo when she’s hit with the realization that Armie is technically her superior, then dramatically tried to explain and apologize. Armie only laughs, not moving from their spot on the couch. 

“I told grandma and mom already.” Pauline says as they wait for dinner in the living room. “About Armie.” 

Armie, in turn, just looks at Timothée, waiting for his reaction. Pauline glares at him behind Armie, displeased with the response. Timothée ignores it and urges her to go on. 

“They’re asking if you want to tell her yourself?” Pauline asks, looking between them. 

“Ah fuck. If she starts asking where babies come from I’m gonna knock her out.” Timothée grouses, picking up his phone. 

The call is just as difficult as they imagined. Astrid comes to the screen and Armie immediately melts by his side then begins cooing. Being naturally extroverted, Astrid is delighted to see a new face aside from Timothée and Pauline. There’s only a brief introduction. 

_ “Sweetie, hi,”  _ Timothée starts, unsure how to proceed with the chaotic energy of the call. 

Their grandmother is taken with Armie right away, charmed by the alpha’s effortless grace. Their mother is wary but warms up anyway at the sight of Astrid’s curiosity over Armie. Pauline slips in the fact that Armie is her boss and is loaded. Their grandmother literally gives a loud cheer. Élodie is the only one who has the slightest consideration for Timothée, but all she’s doing is chuckling at the back. 

_ “Papa!”  _ Astrid greets.  _ “He’s my papa.”  _ She tells Armie, pointing at him. 

“Oh my God,” Armie is uncontrollably laughing. “I don’t know what she said but I agree.” 

Nicole hears Armie and laughs, shaking her head. 

“This is fucking bonkers.” Pauline complains. 

“Language!” Nicole, Timothée and Armie reprimand her at the same time. 

The first step is getting everyone to speak the same language. Their grandmother doesn’t really know English so she’s exempted. It’s distracting for Astrid though, and she keeps slipping back to full French when they’re translating back and forth. Pauline gets up and returns with gin and tonic. Timothée wants to cry, but Armie is still cooing to the screen. 

“Astrid, this is - get off the screen.” Timothée tugs Armie away from the laptop. “Everyone settle down. Okay? Cool. Astrid, listen; so this is Armie. He’s your father.” 

“You’re my papa.” 

“Yeah but he’s daddy.” 

Pauline downs her gin at that explanation. Élodie snorts. 

“Well, so we are your parents, us two.” Timothée points to himself and Armie, blushing furiously. 

Armie guffaws beside him, then whispers “You’re about to explain how babies are made.” 

Timothée pinches his thigh, making the alpha yelp. Astrid tilts her head, confused. “So papa and aunt Pauline has mamie and papi, and you have me and Armie-”

“He looks like me!” Astrid exclaims excitedly, grinning at Armie. “Hello, Armie!” 

Timothée fumbles, trying to recover from there. “No, sweetie, he’s your dad - uh, so-”

“Get your child to call Armie ‘bro’ because clearly daddy isn’t going to work.” Pauline quips from the kitchen, pouring herself another drink. 

Nicole is red on the face, flustered about the flow of the conversation and uncertain about how much she should filter while translating to their grandmother. Élodie is just enjoying her front row seat to a ridiculous live evening sitcom. Clearly, no help is coming from any of their family members, so Timothée tries another approach and tells her to think about her classmate Celeste and her parents Nicolas and Pierre. Astrid seems to follow the analogy, then asks what about his mother, grandmother and Pauline. Apparently, her default tells her that all of them are her parents. 

It’s just overall not looking good, so Nicole intervenes and says that she’ll understand it in time. It’s also better if they pick it back up again when they get there. It was all agreed upon in the end and the call finished when Astrid struggled to keep her eyes open. They all part reluctantly that night. Armie is still torn between his lingering resentment and immense happiness following the call with Astrid, but the thrill overpowers everything else. He returns to his own hotel after dinner. 

The two days are then spent on navigating the weird introductory phase between Armie and Astrid over long distance calls, while Armie and Timothée slowly work through their baggage between each other. Armie even said that he’s willing to just forget all about it. He thinks it’s not worth holding on to, not when they’ve arrived in it anyway. Timothée disagrees, feeling as though Armie is just cutting him some slack and not holding him accountable for his part of the mess. Armie thinks that means keeping a wound open when it can just heal; Timothée calls that method repression. 

“You two need some heavy couple’s counseling.” Pauline pokes her head through her bedroom door, interrupting the argument. “I know you’re my boss and it’s between you two, but like that’s my  _ niece.  _ Don’t be messing her up.” She points a finger to them accusingly then disappears again. 

Armie looks at Timothée and finds him glaring in annoyance. “That’s not my suggestion! Why are you glowering at me?”

Timothée keeps glaring. 

“Since you’re already pissed I’ll just say it then. Your sister is right.” 

“Yeah? No shit.” 

Astrid starts calling Armie daddy the day after they met. Timothée suspects a lot of help from his mother and grandmother, which he appreciates a lot. They talk on the phone for hours on end, which means that Armie spends most of the remaining time in the flat rather than his hotel room. Timothée is entirely unprepared for the gravity of the sight; Astrid and Armie bond through a call, their daughter teaching Armie a few French words, Armie saying it back and pronouncing terribly. It grips his heart every time, especially Armie’s natural affinity with kids. Astrid is already so at ease with him even though they’ve yet to meet. When Astrid ends the call to do what kids her age do, Armie jumps to his feet, declaring his desire to shop for gifts for their daughter. Timothée doesn’t think he can shoot the idea down, so the best he could do is supervise the shopping. 

When they got there, Timothée barely stopped Armie from purchasing half the mall. It’s ridiculous to buy a ton of stuff and bring it all the way. Clearly, what Armie heard was that he should save the big gifts when they’re there so it’s not so hard to transport. Timothée just makes do with that conclusion. 

At night, Timothée talks to his mom and grandma about how they discussed with Astrid. They used visual aids like her favorite cartoons or dolls, and even mentioned some of her friends and their families. Kids are pretty simple minded, although the questions keep coming, the leading one being why Armie only showed up now. They all agreed that it’s a story that can wait. 

Overall, they’re all mostly set to meet again that the travel time feels too long. Timothée is aware that their issues are not yet resolved, but instead locked away in a glove box for the time being. He tries to keep that in mind before he’s carried away. Armie is cheerfully ignoring all of it, content to just bask in the excitement of finally meeting his daughter. Timothée doesn’t have the heart to take that away from him, so he’ll carry the burden of it for once in his life. Pauline manages two days off following the weekend, so she’ll be around them for some time. She said she can’t miss the reunion for the world. Maybe also to gossip with their mom that Timothée literally snagged her boss five years before she worked in banking. 

They’re taking things one step at a time, but Timothée still can’t keep his mind away from the fact that Armie has to leave in three weeks. It’s another conundrum that he can’t begin to explain to Astrid. He’s afraid, most of all. Armie and Astrid are developing a strong attachment to one another, and they haven’t met personally yet. If the two days were anything to go by, Astrid totally has Armie in the palm of her hands. 

The drive is just a constant buzz. Armie can’t even sit still anymore. He packed just enough clothes to rotate in three weeks, and left everything in his hotel room since it’s already paid for anyway. Even Pauline is about to burst on the front seat, and the cab driver is somewhat confused about the good tension in the air. 

Just as they’re unloading from the trunk of the car, Armie suddenly flares in panic. Pauline looks at them, alarmed. Timothée just sighs. 

“Wait, what if she decides she actually doesn’t like me?” Armie tugs at Timothée’s arm. 

“What if this is some Midsommar type of shit? I don’t know, Armand, we just roll.” Timothée snaps, rolling his eyes at him and leading the way. 

Pauline cracks up, then claps Armie on the shoulder, which looks awkward because he’s taller by a foot. “It’s fine, really. Besides, you’ll stay for three weeks. I’m sure we’ll figure something out.” 

“What about when I leave? Shit, has anyone told her that-”

Timothée feels the chill run up his spine. “Armie,” he calls, reaching out a hand to his arm. “It’s three weeks from now. It’ll be fine.” 

Armie goes a little cross-eyed when he focuses on Timothée. It’s quite a thrill to know that hasn’t changed. 

Pauline fake gags in the background. “Alright, sweet cheeks. We’re here.” She goes ahead of them and calls out. 

When Timothée is about to follow her, Armie grabs him and pulls so they stand chest to chest. 

“Tell me we’re in this together.” Armie pleads with a hand cupping his face. 

Timothée wants nothing but  _ that. _ Kissing the heel of his palm, he answers “We’re in this together. Everything else can follow. We’ll figure it out.” 

“We’ll figure it out.” Armie repeats, tugging him for a hug. 

For now, they’re parents to Astrid. There are three more weeks to work through the threads that are knotted in their way. 

The front door opens, revealing Élodie as she helps their grandmother to walk out of the house. Nicole follows shortly, then Astrid bolting out to jump in Pauline’s arms. 

“That’s your daughter.” Timothée nudges Armie with his shoulder as the alpha stands frozen on his side. 

It breaks Armie’s trance. “That’s  _ our _ daughter,” he amends, the awe not leaving his face even as his gaze shifts. “God, we really do look alike. I hope she doesn’t grow up like me; I burned my hair at five.” 

Timothée breaks down in confused laughter. “You what?” 

“Yeah, my earliest memory right there - hello, uh, good afternoon.” Armie straightens up, catching his grandmother staring. 

Their grandmother waves cheerfully at Armie. Nicole acknowledges him with a kind smile. 

_ “Papa!”  _ Astrid runs right up to him and into his arms. 

Timothée is on the ground in a second, his bags dropping on the floor as he lifts Astrid.  _ “Miss me?”  _

_ “Yes, a lot. Mamie cooked tarts but you’re not here.”  _ Astrid hugs him around the neck and kisses him.  _ “Hello!”  _ She waves at Armie, smiling. 

Armie is still wide-eyed and while his scent blows up with wonder.  _ “Hello,”  _ he answers back, trying out the French greeting on his tongue. 

It’s not perfect but the thought is there. Astrid giggles. “You’re my daddy.” 

“I am,” Armie breathes out, his eyes looking over at Timothée like he can’t believe any of it. 

Astrid seems just as taken with Armie as he is with her. “Grandma says you’re different because we’re family but papa can kiss you. Like Celeste’s papas.” 

Timothée glances over to his mom, mortified that the explanation went to  _ that  _ extent, but she only shrugs sheepishly. Pauline is snorting as she laughs silently. The way it’s put strangely makes sense; like someone telling you that the only ones not related in your family are your mother and father. It’s not wrong, just weird. 

Armie guffaws. “You  _ are _ my daughter, alright.” He says with a fond shake of his head. “Can I hug you?” 

The way he asks for Astrid’s permission is entirely too adorable. If his entire family hasn’t been completely won over the last two days, they definitely are now. Astrid doesn’t even think about it; opening his arms so Armie can take him from Timothée. 

When Armie has Astrid in his embrace, his scent blooms with even more warmth than ever before. It astonishes Timothée with how much of it that Armie is capable of. But then again, they reached this point and were still on relatively good terms. Timothée looks over to his family and sees them fondly watching Armie and Astrid chat animatedly. It can’t be helped; not with the way Armie just how unthinkingly he exposes every feeling through his expression and scent. Even Timothée can’t help the bursting in his chest. It’s no longer letting the chips fall where they may, but the last piece of puzzle fitting itself right on the spot to complete the picture. 

Five years ago, Timothée wouldn’t believe it’s even a possibility for them. 

“Hey,” Armie whispers, checking on him as Astrid curiously turns to their bags. “You okay?” 

Timothée realizes his eyes are filled with tears. Feeling silly, he laughs it off and blinks it away. “Yeah, my eyes aren’t used to fresh air anymore.” 

Armie laughs, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and kissing the top of his head. “She’s looking for her gift. I told you you should’ve let me get the dollhouse.” 

Timothée guffaws and hits him on the stomach. “I’m raising a money-wise child.” 

“Uh? Excuse me?” Armie replies indignantly, motioning to himself. 

Timothée steps away and crosses his arms over his chest. “You dropped a bunch of money for a six week holiday because your crush might be in France.” 

Not giving him a chance to reply, Timothée turns to Astrid and kneels beside her, helping with the bags. Armie is laughing behind them then follows suit. He teases Timothée some more, making Astrid giggle. Pauline walks over to them shortly and takes some of their bags. It made Armie self-conscious that he tries to help, but Astrid looks up and gasps at his height as she stands by his feet. It ends in Armie scooping her off the ground and lifting her over his head. Astrid pretends to be flying and Armie kisses her when she comes down close enough. 

_ “You’re about to melt on the spot.”  _ Pauline elbows him lightly. 

Timothée doesn’t even take his eyes away from where Armie and Astrid are playing.  _ “I want this, Pauline.”  _

_ “You should tell him that.”  _ Pauline responds coolly, taking Timothée’s bag and bringing it inside. 

Timothée knows Armie is on the same page about that. He’s just afraid of the possibility that penance will come too heavy for them to bear. It’s still tucked away and ignored for now, but he knows the darkness of it looming at the far back can easily swallow them whole. 

They all go inside and settle in. Astrid hasn’t stopped talking, still carried by Armie and held up to his chest. Her father’s height is a source of amusement for her; whether it be playing or simply gloating to their family that she’s taller than them now. Timothée laughs with everyone else, pleased that they’re getting on easily, even though they’re all unsure if Astrid truly understands what’s going on. Timothée comes up to her and kisses her cheek, then gives a light squeeze to Armie’s shoulder before he turns away to get their stuff in order.

There’s a whole other issue on their sleeping arrangement. Their grandmother’s house is an old two-storey French countryside property, three bedrooms on each floor. It’s from their grandfather when he passed; a wedding gift to their grandmother when they married, supposedly an inheritance for their father, but that didn’t work out either. It was bought during the time that France was just selling off their medieval properties at a low price just to have people maintain it. It’s not a very good long term plan, considering how expensive that actually is, and now that the providers have passed, the house is left in a rundown state of a property too grand for them to keep up with vines creeping up the exterior and one too many plumbing broken. 

The upstairs are occupied by Timothée, Pauline and Astrid. He supposes Armie can have his bedroom, and he can move to Astrid’s room even though it’s a twin-sized bed that they’ll squeeze into. They didn’t discuss it, which now obviously demands that they should’ve. Not that Timothée has a problem with sleeping on the same bed with Armie. It just makes him panic. 

“Hey,” Armie comes up to the bedroom door some time after Timothée disappears. 

Timothée turns, surprised not to find Astrid attached to him. “Where’s Astrid?” 

Armie shrugs. “Pauline. She bought this pop-up book that she liked.” 

“Oh, right. Yeah, she’s into that.” Timothée continues unpacking his bags. He’s entirely unprepared for how uncharacteristically awkward they are in a bedroom. “This is Astrid’s room. So uh, I’ll be staying here and you can have my room.” He stands up and walks to the room across the hallway, opening it for Armie. 

There’s no scent blockers now. Timothée’s anxiousness is thick in the air. 

Armie just follows him inside then his breath stops in his throat. “Ah,” he clicks his tongue, looking around. 

Timothée has the faint realization that it’s reminiscent of the time they were in his studio apartment in Flatbush. The heat rises to his cheek, blushing hard at the memory. They’re really pushing aside the primary points that set all of this in motion, and now every bit of it just catches them off guard at every turn. 

“Timothée?” Armie takes one step closer to him, checking. 

“Yes?” Timothée keeps his head up to hold his gaze. 

Instead of answering, Armie reaches forward, waiting for him to reject it. Timothée takes a step closer to him, meeting him halfway. It makes Armie smile; his scent flowing with relief and satisfaction from the response. They stand facing each other in the middle of the room, then Armie brushes the hair around his face with his hand. 

“Is this okay?” Armie asks quietly. 

Timothée nods, wrapping his hands around Armie’s waist and hiding his face on his chest. He feels the rumble of his chuckle, then Armie wraps his own arms around his shoulders, burying his nose in his hair. 

“The complications can wait. We’ll deal with them later.” Armie tells him. 

Maybe Timothée is just stupid and awful in reading the room, but he moves his face to tilt it upward, looking at Armie. He sees the look on the alpha’s eyes and gets spurred on. Armie smells exactly how he looks; engrossed and overwhelmed that he’s dazed with it. 

“Do you want to stay with me?” Timothée asks him. 

Armie keeps his eyes on him as he nods. “Yes.” He kisses him on the forehead and lingers there. 

For now, it’s more than enough. It means everything. 

The first week is beyond overwhelming, but Timothée revels in every moment that makes his heart swell. The fact that they’re not left on their own is a blessing. Frankly, Timothée now feels that the tables have turned and he’s the one walking on thin ice. Rightfully so, especially after everything. Armie doesn’t express any grudge at all, but that’s just because they shoved it under the rug for now. At the moment, he’s more focused on exploring his relationship with Astrid and building rapport with the rest of the family. 

Armie is even more breathtaking in a relaxed, domestic setting. On his first night, he changed into more laidback sweatpants and a t-shirt then helped to prepare dinner. Their grandmother, traditional as she is, was heavily surprised with how naturally at ease he seemed in the kitchen. Nicole is a beta, and so was their father, which means they do as they want without the pressures that are usually applied to alphas and omegas. It visibly delights her that Armie doesn’t fall under that. 

“So like, you cook? For the two of you?” Pauline asked as she sat on the floor with Astrid playing with blocks. 

Armie looked up from the stew he’s stirring, then to Timothée who was wiping the countertop. “Sure,” he answered, holding back a smile. 

Nicole jumped right in, glancing at him with a teasing grin. “Most alphas don’t like that.” 

Armie only laughed dismissively. “My brother is an omega, and our parents were traditionalists and conservatives. They put him through these extra classes growing up so I joined him, since we’re just two years apart. He hated it less when there were two of us pricking our fingers with needles.” 

Timothée didn’t know that bit about the omega brother, or the parents, or Armie’s general upbringing for that matter. Armie seemed to realize that too and met his eyes, shrugging. They had a silent exchange and agreed to talk about that for later. 

“Please tell me that Timothée at least apologizes after a fight.” Pauline groused, keeping Astrid occupied with brain teasers. 

Armie nodded but avoided everyone’s eyes. The way he was controlling his grin was already an answer that Timothée definitely did not. 

“Timothée!” Nicole chided, putting a hand on her hip. 

Defensively, Timothée pinched Armie’s flank and glared. 

“Ow! I said yes, I agreed!” Armie was already chuckling as he jumped away. “He does apologize, everyone can calm down now.” He told them. 

Pauline snorted. “He apologizes first?” 

That’s a hard no. Timothée scowled, unable to deny the specific phrasing. Armie saw his reaction and guffawed. 

At night, Timothée tucked Astrid in her bedroom with Armie sitting on the other side of her bed. He’s reading a story to her, but it’s in French so Armie settled on stroking her hair while she snuggled on his side. The entire room smelled of their happiness; nothing new in their house but not the same either with Armie fitting himself easily. 

When they finished, Armie arranged Astrid under the sheets until she settled comfortably. 

“Daddy, where are you sleeping?” Astrid asked, her head pillowed under her clasped hands. 

Armie shot Timothée a mischievous smile before he responded. “On papa’s bed.” 

“But that’s his bed.” 

“Yes, but daddy is allowed to sleep with papa.” 

Timothée can’t understand how Armie kept a straight face during that conversation. Parenting is hard. 

“I want to sleep there, too.” Astrid declared, sitting up on her bed. 

That was how they all ended up on Timothée’s bed, curled together every night for that first week. That was a blessing too, in its own right. 

Early mornings are Armie and Pauline’s thing, until she has to leave mid-week to return to Paris for work. They run and workout even before they consume anything other than water. To Timothée and Astrid, mornings are waking up to the smell of breakfast food cooking downstairs. It's a wonderful sight every single time; Armie and Pauline have already taken shower, both making themselves useful around the kitchen. Armie has learned Astrid’s breakfast favorites within that first week. The extra help cuts the amount of work for Nicole, so she manages the shop easier. 

Their days alternate from playing and lazing around the house or going around town. It's wonderful, to say the least. Astrid drags Armie all around from the yard to the garden and to the shop. It’s pretty much known to the stretch of their neighborhood that he’s the father. They also find that Astrid isn’t completely clueless about family structures, she just thinks that she has more than other people. Whenever she sees a family now, she points and tells them that they’re like that. Every single time, they entertain the analogy, and expound some more, and Astrid understands it better each day. 

“I’ll be here as often as I can secure a leave.” Armie told him one day while they were out for a stroll. 

They were watching Astrid play around the park, digging in the sandbox and loading a pail. 

Timothée looked at Armie, trying to gauge the situation. “What does that look like?” 

“Best case? One week every month.” Armie answered, smiling at Astrid when she held up a plastic toy she dug. 

In comparison, that’s like a compressed version of weekends he spent with Astrid while he’s away for university. 

Nodding, Timothée replied “That’s good enough.” 

Armie turned his head to look at him. “I’ll call often, too.” 

“You should. She’ll be missing you, especially with how much you spoil her.” 

“I’ll call you, too.” 

Timothée returned Armie’s gaze, and they exchanged a small smile. 

“Good, because I’ll miss you as well.” 

Armie’s face brightened as he smiled, happy with the response. He pulled Timothée to his chest and kissed his forehead. “I’ll miss you, too.” 

On afternoons that Astrid feels like having a nap, Armie and Timothée take the chance to get to know more about each other. As mentioned, Armie came from a traditional and conservative family; born into an omega mother and an alpha father. He grew up in Los Angeles, his mom a housewife while his dad was a politician. Viktor, his brother, is two years younger and an omega, married to a beta woman named Angelique. Armie says they’re high school sweethearts. Their parents initially thought that they’ll grow out of it eventually, but they never broke up even well into adulthood. They’d wanted him to marry an alpha, but the one who did was him. They begrudgingly attended their weddings, but at least they did. 

Armie was twenty-seven when their mother was gunned down in a mass shooting during a political gathering in Washington. Being mates, their father was heavily dependent on their mother. He spiraled pretty quickly and never recovered from the loss. Two years following their mother’s death, their father had gone to sleep after complaining about a throbbing headache and didn’t wake up. 

“What about Liz?” Timothée asked as they lounge on the front porch while Astrid slept inside. 

The moment it’s out, they both realized that it’s still quite a sore topic. Armie waited until Timothée met his eyes. He assured the alpha with a squeeze to his hand. Armie turned his palm upward and laced their fingers together. It changed the air. They both noted that it’s the first time they held hands. 

“Liz and I were in the same circle back in college. We’re both business majors, but she’s two years ahead.” Armie stared off the distance as he recalled the story. “We didn’t start dating until after I graduated. It’s been seventeen years since, and even longer if we’re talking about when we first met so you’ll have to bear with me.” 

Timothée chuckled, appreciating how Armie tried to make light of it. He’s even a bit nervous about it, so Timothée moved closer to him and put his head on the alpha’s shoulder. Armie relaxed and picked up his story. 

“We had a great dynamic in college, and when we reconnected after university, we sort of gravitated towards each other because we shared a nearly identical background, from education down to our families. It felt amazing, because we felt like we ‘get’ each other. We understood everything between us perfectly; our biology, our drive, our dreams. I proposed after two years of dating; I was still in my one bedroom in Manhattan back then, but she was already set with the two-year head start.” 

“You were a happy couple.” 

“We were.” Armie didn’t hesitate in admitting it. “We were so thrilled with each other; in love with that heady rush of ambition and knowing we shared the same mindset. Like a team. In hindsight, we’d always been on a tipping point. That’s exactly why we liked each other, but it got messy real fast. Marriages don’t fall apart in one night, but that’s how it felt when I found out she’d been having an affair. In reality, our healthy competition had long turned into aggressions towards one another. There’d been conscious efforts to sabotage the other’s works, or manipulation to keep the other in place or to a desired one. Our achievements weren’t something celebrated anymore, at least not genuinely. We sort of saw it as a mark we need to surpass.” 

Timothée rubbed his thumb over Armie’s knuckles in an attempt to soothe him. “When did you realize it?” 

Scoffing, Armie replied “After.” He ran his hand across his face, frustrated at the memory. “When I went to therapy. That was when everything came to light. It was during the height of our divorce. It was messy, with our assets and everything else. It dragged on for  _ months,  _ Jesus Christ. She made it as hard for us both as possible, or we could just withdraw it and work on our relationship again. It was our friend Nick who suggested a shrink because I’d - well…” He trailed off with a shrug. 

“You what?” Timothée sat up straight, searching his face. “Tell me what happened.” 

Armie clearly would rather not, but he also wasn’t looking forward to arguing with him. “I was developing an alcohol dependence, for starters. We were already on a rough patch, and then just got worse and worse with the infidelity, hers and mine.” He gave him a rueful smile. “The claim too, which was unusually long. Like a drug that was cut suddenly. At this point, I’m willing to bet that you being pregnant probably had something to do with it. When my rut hit, it sent me to the hospital and I was medicated the entire time. So yeah, Nick said ‘Dude, get help, like really.’ The doctors recommended me to one even before I’m discharged.” 

“I’m sorry.” Timothée meant it with all his heart. 

Armie shook his head. “I  _ am _ sorry.” He pulled him to lean against him again. “Are we talking about your five years now?” 

Timothée’s throat immediately closed, his gut twisting along with it. “Not yet,” he said. 

The pregnancy alone was bad, then all that followed it didn’t really pick up all that well. They’re not guilt-tripping each other now. 

Their reunion couldn’t be paced better than this. By the second week, they feel significantly lighter, and they see each other in a better light. Timothée knows Armie is applying some methods from his own therapy to keep them in calm waters. Timothée can’t blame him, since the alpha has pretty much gotten used to him acting impulsively. He’s working on that. Armie has carved a space in the house for himself, even if it’s only been a week. Nicole doesn’t have to split herself between preparing breakfast and opening the shop since Armie covers that for her. Their grandmother sometimes crochets with Armie out on the front porch, and though they can’t understand each other perfectly, their products seem to come out just fine. Astrid has her own routine with Armie; getting ready for the day with Armie styling her hair while Timothée puts together her outfits. They play together and watch cartoons side by side, snacking on fruits because Armie wants her to develop healthy eating habits. 

“Daddy!” Astrid walked into the living room with flash cards in hand. “French time!” She announced, climbing on the couch beside Armie. 

It made Timothée smile immediately. Astrid took it upon herself to teach Armie French, and she got the materials for it from the French-English educational kits that Timothée got for her so she’d grow up fluent in both languages. 

“Alright,” Armie turned on his seat so they faced each other.  _ “Hi, what’s up?”  _

His accent was outrageous. Timothée couldn’t help his laughter as he wiped their plates dry on the counter. 

_ “Tea time!”  _ Astrid said, giggling. 

They proceeded with naming food and drinks in French. As far as Timothée can tell, Armie could follow the vocabulary and recognized them in conversations. He’s just bad at pronunciation, but he’d get the hang of the language in time. When the time came for a recap, Armie translated perfectly, if only one would disregard the way they’re said. 

_ “Perfect!”  _ Astrid clapped gleefully, taking Armie’s hand and putting a stamp on it.  _ “This says, very good.  _ Very good.” 

_ “Thank you,”  _ Armie gave a little bow. They giggled together at the antic. 

Timothée joined them just in time for the lessons about simple phrases related to asking for condiments or ordering in a restaurant. To his chagrin, Armie pointed at him and egged on Astrid to teach him, too. 

“Papa needs help ordering, too.” Armie told her, fake-whispering. 

Before he could protest, Astrid began lecturing them both on dining out, French edition. It was all just a comic relief for them, since Timothée was practically getting schooled by their daughter while Armie back translated wrong more than half the time. Their grandmother found them like that and stayed to watch, laughing at the sight. 

It takes the tail-end of the second week for Timothée to realize that he doesn’t ever wake up with Armie still in bed. He knows that the alpha is a morning person, but in his opinion five o’clock is just ridiculous. At least Armie comes up to wake them up for breakfast, which is beyond nice. Timothée would’ve kissed him more than half the time if only Astrid isn’t there beating him to it. 

One morning, Timothée wakes up from the need to pee at the crack of dawn. There’s no breakfast being cooked downstairs yet, so he takes that to mean that Armie is still working out or jogging outside. There are only two bathrooms in the house, one on each floor. He pads sleepily to theirs at the end of the hallway. The door doesn’t lock anymore and none of them could figure out how to replace the doorknob. To make do, they keep a sign hanging on the doorknob to indicate if it’s occupied. It’s still dark out, and Timothée is honestly only half awake at best which is why, should anyone care to ask, he opens the door carelessly, missing the sign completely until the smell hits him. 

Armie jumps in the shower, but even his surprise can’t mask his arousal in the air. Timothée feels himself burn up, his blood rushing up to his face though his own dick battles the flow of circulation. They both freeze on the spot; Armie hidden in the shower stall, Timothée planted by the doorframe. They don’t need to see each other, much less say anything to know that Timothée just walked in on Armie jerking off. 

“I didn’t see the - uh so, well - I’ll use-” Timothée cleared his throat, turning on his heel though he felt a little dizzy. “I’ll go downstairs.” 

Armie was muffling his laughter behind the shower, but it barely contained the sound. Timothée scampered off, holding back his own laughter until he got to the bathroom downstairs.

Their third week is set off on a renewed sexual tension that puts Timothée on the verge of tears. It breaks a new barrier between them, though it’s only ever been a thin film if they’re going to describe it accurately. The reason why the air between them doesn’t feel as charged as it always has been is because they’re literally around Timothée’s mother and grandmother, as well as their kid and Élodie. Now that it’s breached and broken, they move around each other on high alert, flinching when their skin unexpectedly touches or they happen to turn and find the other standing too close. It doesn’t take long before the rest of the house catches on. It’s just their collective luck that Pauline decides to come home for that weekend. It’s hilarious to everyone but the two of them. 

“You’re wearing that?” The question was out of Timothée’s mouth before he could stop it. 

Armie looked down on himself, dressed in his usual gray sweatpants that’s tapered at the ankles and a t-shirt. “You said we’re just grabbing some produce from the farmers’ market?” 

Timothée answered too quickly. “We are.” 

It’s the sweatpants. Timothée can literally see the outline of Armie’s dick and he wants to die from spontaneous combustion. 

“I wear this all the time, what’s wrong with it?” 

“Nothing. Let’s go.” 

When Armie moved to follow, he caught Timothée’s eyes darting to his crotch then redirecting elsewhere. The way Armie’s scent bloomed as he laughed easily revealed that he already knew what’s up. Timothée’s blush wasn’t helping to disprove anything. 

“You’re looking at the wrong fruit.” Armie quipped. 

Timothée whacked him. 

At some point, Pauline turns them into a drinking game. Whenever they jump from accidentally touching or get flustered from nearly running into each other, she takes a sip. Their mom initially scolds her for having a drink in her hand nearly every time they’re all in the same room, but she gets the charm eventually. Their grandmother shamelessly gossips with Élodie, sometimes predicting what’s going to happen like a sports announcer. Astrid is thankfully clueless all throughout, but Timothée is in a constant state of mortification from getting teased by his entire family all day long. 

On the other hand, it gets to Timothée’s consciousness that Armie is set to leave in a couple of days. It’s by far the best weeks he’s had in years and the thought of separating grips his heart painfully. They haven’t even talked to Astrid about it yet. On top of that, they haven’t fully addressed their own baggage, either. Timothée is terrified that this might be the last time that they’ll get to be this happy. By the end of this week, they’ll be facing the music, and it’s not looking good from here. 

Timothée wakes up before dawn, his restlessness interrupting his sleep that he doesn’t feel like going back though it’s only four in the morning. To his surprise, Armie is out of the bed, too. As far as he knows, the alpha gets up at five. Timothée decides to go down to the kitchen and make some tea, hoping it’ll settle him down. 

“You’re up,” Armie is sitting on the couch, tying his shoes. He’s just preparing to go for a jog. 

Timothée gives a curt nod. “Can’t go back to sleep,” he explains. 

“What’s bothering you?” Armie gets up to join him in the kitchen, sensing the weight in the air. 

Shrugging, Timothée says “We haven’t told Astrid that you’re leaving.” 

Armie nods then looks at the stairs. “I’m under negotiation with my company. I’ll take a cut from my salary by requesting the monthly one week leave, but I can work with that.” 

“That’s good.” The news makes Timothée feel more hopeful. 

“I’ll also be in Paris first when you’re there. Maybe we can fly together on some weekends.” Armie adds, feeling braver and stepping into his personal space. 

“Yeah, definitely.” Timothée answers, already feeling his relief overwhelming him. 

Armie takes his phone out and shows him his order history. “For the meantime, I’m leaving Astrid something for every week I’m not around. A puzzle, a gift, just something. Your mother agreed to help me. She’ll hide it around and Astrid will start her week by hunting it.” 

“God, you’re the best parent ever.” Timothée’s eyes sting, his heart swelling from the sheer amount of effort that Armie is putting to make things work. 

“Come here,” Armie sets his phone down to open his arms. 

Timothée goes in his embrace easily, nuzzling in the crook of his neck and breathing in. “There’s still so much to work on.” 

“Yes, but  _ we _ will work on it. Together.” Armie takes his face in his hands, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Right?” 

Timothée nods eagerly. “We will. I promise.” 

“I promise.” Armie returns. 

They kiss softly under the soft morning glow spilling into the kitchen from the windows. Armie cradles him as they stand chest to chest, the tenderness flowing out of him with every touch. Timothée melts in his arms, grateful for another chance. 

The next morning, Timothée finds Pauline, Nicole and their grandmother talking sneakily in the backyard some time after breakfast. Armie is with Astrid upstairs, getting her ready for the day. Curious, Timothée steps outside to join in. 

_ “Why are you all out here?”  _ He asks, looking at each one of them. 

They all exchange meaningful looks. Their grandmother speaks first.  _ “Well, since Armie is leaving in a few days, Nicole suggested that you might want to spend it in Paris.”  _

It makes sense, but the fact that they have to look this conspiring doesn’t. 

_ “I’ll tell Armie.”  _ Timothée answers, uncertain. He feels weird standing in front of them at the moment, like they’re talking about him while he’s sitting right next to them.  _ “Astrid can also see him to the airport.”  _

_ “Leave with me, tomorrow. I’ll take care of Astrid for the most part.”  _ Pauline tells him like it’s not up for discussion.  _ “I hate being around you two with your stupid sexual tension.” _

Timothée flushes all over.  _ “Are you sending us away to have sex?”  _

Nicole, his mother, of all people, snorts at his scandalized tone.  _ “What did you think summers in the French countryside were for?”  _

_ “Mom, we don’t need to know how you whee-hoo with dad, oh my God.”  _

Timothée just stands there, in shock. He can’t believe his family just set him up for a dick appointment. 

When he sees Armie again, he has Astrid in tow, her hair braided in a neat ponytail. The moment he sees Timothée, he notes the embarrassment looming over his head like his own personal cloud. Astrid has a toy that she’s fiddling with so Armie walks over to him, intrigued with his mood. 

“What happened?” He asks, leaning on the wall. 

Timothée feels himself blush all over again. “Pauline suggests that we come with her to Paris tomorrow, spend the rest of your stay there. Astrid can see you off, too.” 

Armie perks up at that. “Sounds good. Why are you mortified then?” 

“Well, Pauline offers to take care of Astrid.” Timothée runs a hand through his face. He’s stupidly sweating over this. 

It doesn’t take more than a moment before Armie realizes the implication. “Oh my God, your days of ogling my ass are finally-” 

Timothée claps a hand over Armie’s mouth. “I don’t ogle your ass.” 

“Fine. My days of ogling your ass are finally seeing results.” He amends, holding Timothée’s hand out of the way.

“You ogle my ass?” 

“All day.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two need therapy. Repression isn’t the answer.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last before the epilogue! Thank you all for sticking with this ridiculous story!

After dinner, Pauline enticed Astrid away with a promise of a girls’ night in her room so she’ll sleep on her bed instead of Timothée’s. Armie didn’t even bat an eye. He only laughed and asked about what that is. They launched into a discussion of what is essentially a spa day, then Pauline said they’ll play with make up first and Astrid was definitely sold. Élodie, Nicole and their grandmother just smiled sneakily around, then shooed them all away to take care of the dishes. Timothée was mortified, much to Pauline’s amusement, while Armie wasn’t even fazed. He just pretended like nothing was being set up and actually looked convincing doing it.

Timothée returns to their room first, since Armie is still washing up before going to bed. While alone, he stands in front of the mirror in the bedroom, examining himself. It’s the night before they leave for Paris, and Pauline really isn’t wasting anyone’s time that she even whisked Astrid away from them. Now that he knows they’ll be left on their own tonight, Timothée’s issue with his body image is resurfacing. In the last five years, he’s never been with anyone. He’s met new people and found more than a handful to be good looking, but it stops there. There’s no attraction beyond his appreciation of their charm. He’s held back by more than just his baggage. 

On top of that, he can’t quite wrap his head around the possibility that someone might want him like Armie did without the same scent bond pulling them together, and in turn himself wanting someone else like he did with Armie. It’s simply not clicking. 

It’s been a while since they had been in bed together. Timothée doesn’t doubt that Armie is still as fit as he remembers, but a lot has changed for him. First of all, he has that little pouch of fat on his lower abdomen that didn’t quite disappear after the pregnancy. Along with that is the scar from c-section, the line where the skin is stitched together stark against his overall pale skin. At least his weight is at the normal range now, though he’s still a skinny little thing with angular bone structure everywhere. 

Armie walks into the room casually, his hand holding a towel and drying his hair with it. Timothée watches from the reflection as Armie finds him standing there, shirtless and only wearing his own pair of sweatpants. The smell in the room says a lot about Timothée’s mood, and Armie approaches him carefully as he hangs the towel on the back of the chair. 

Turning away from the mirror, Timothée walks over to the bed and taps the space beside him, urging Armie to sit. He follows wordlessly, his eyes attentively examining him to gauge the situation. 

“I’ll tell you about my five years now.” Timothée takes a deep breath, then turns his head away to stare out the window. “The pregnancy was hard. You know what Dr. Howard said about me, right? That I’m not built for that.” He looks over at Armie, his concern written all over his face and his scent filling the room with it. 

Armie swallows warily, not trusting himself to speak. Timothée gives him a small smile, then moves to kneel in the middle of the bed. 

“The morning sickness kick started it all. It went bad pretty fast, and came to the point that I lost my appetite entirely. I was nauseous all the time and I couldn’t eat, but I had to. There were fainting spells from how weak I’ve gotten, but we got a dietitian and a nutritionist to work on my meals. We got the hang of it eventually, but everything is off with how my body developed and the pregnancy.” Timothée straightens up on the bed, still on his knees, to give Armie a good look of his torso. “So I was on bed rest for the latter part until it was time. The doctors called for an operation right away because I was passing out already. My pelvic floor collapsed or something, I forgot. So I had to stay in for two more weeks after.” 

Armie is staring at him with his pain and guilt written all over himself. He reaches out, and Timothée lets him, but cuts him off when he opens his mouth to speak. 

“I don’t want you to apologize.” Timothée says firmly, threading their fingers together and scooting to his side. “It was my call to take myself out of the equation, and I dealt with the consequences. I’m sorry, for what I did, but I also want you to understand that I can’t add it to my conscience if I told you and I broke your marriage.” 

“I should’ve made that choice sooner.” Armie looks down on where their hands are joined. “I can’t tell you enough how hooked I was on the feeling of just being with you, but I didn’t dare to think to ask for more. I didn’t want to oblige you, and back then that’s all it seemed when I literally paid you. I didn’t divorce Liz even though I should’ve. It was a safety blanket.” 

Timothée cups his face with his free hand and waits until he lifts his head to stare back at him. “You said it. All the things we could’ve done differently are behind us now.” 

Frustrated, Armie shakes his head and bites his lips. “But it’s not the same, not anymore. I need you to know-”

“Armie, this is exactly what I didn’t want. Your guilt and sympathy weren’t what I needed then and it’s not what I need now.” Timothée insists. 

He’s still not moved. “Five years. We could’ve-”

“It could’ve ended in a year or two.” Timothée cuts him off again, not having it with regret. “These five years were hard on us both, in our own ways, but I think it made us better. If it was you and me five years ago, it’s going to be dysfunctional. With your divorce, my pregnancy, your issues, my issues. We could’ve ended up hating each other and not being the parents Astrid that deserves. We would’ve dragged her down in a pit with us.” 

It gets the point across, but Armie can’t help how he feels. Instead of talking, he cradles Timothée’s face in his hands, brushing his cheekbones with his thumb. Moving close, Armie plants a kiss on his forehead, but he chokes up and buries his nose in his hair instead. Timothée hugs him, indulging his desire to seek comfort through touching. A shaky breath rips out of Armie, and he realizes that he’s crying silently. Timothée rubs his back soothingly, shushing him as he drops kisses on his collarbones. 

“It’s okay,” Timothée whispers quietly, peppering kisses up to Armie’s jaw until he detaches himself from hiding his face in his hair. “We’re okay.” He holds Armie’s face in his hands, returning the gesture by kissing his forehead. 

Armie shakes his head, still apologetic. He doesn’t verbalize it though. Carefully, he traces the lines of Timothée’s bare upper body, checking, examining, memorizing. He’s touching every dip and edge, from his shoulders down to his stomach until his fingers find the scar. Armie isn’t making a sound, but his expression and scent say everything. Timothée let him touch as much as he needed to. They’re getting to know each other all over again. This is only a small part of it. 

Slowly, Timothée lies down on the bed, taking Armie with him. They’re too anguished to attempt anything; their sorrow too great to make room for anything else but their remorse. Armie bends down and kisses his scar, then keeps his hand on it as he rises up to kiss Timothée all over his face. The tenderness is all too piercing that he whimpers slightly. Armie catches the sound, kisses him soothingly on the forehead until Timothée takes it upon himself to bring their mouths together. Armie sighs into the kiss, sinking on top of him and caressing his face. They indulge their desperation to touch, to hug, to kiss, until they fall asleep tangled in each other. 

Without Astrid sleeping between them, Timothée feels Armie when he begins to stir early in the morning, his body clock starting to wake him around five. His entire upper body is draped over Timothée’s, his face shoved in the crook of his neck. Timothée forces himself to wake so he won’t miss him while he’s still in bed in the morning. 

It’s a wonder to be able to watch Armie again after five years of learning to live without him. Timothée recalls his memory of how Armie wakes up; waiting for him to start grumbling and he does, listening for him to click his tongue once or twice and he does, feeling him until he stirs and stretches his legs and he does. Finding that nothing has changed makes him giddy with the knowledge that they haven’t completely drifted apart, that he still knows Armie this intimately. 

Armie finally wakes up and immediately smells the air. He struggles to keep his eyes open as he lifts his head to take a look, then his face goes soft and affectionate. There’s wonder in his eyes as he puts a hand on Timothée’s cheek, then breathes out when his fingers touch his skin. 

“It’s you,” Armie gasps, like he can’t believe it. “You’re here.” 

Timothée feels exactly the same way. Surging up, he puts their foreheads together and syncs his breathing with Armie’s. When he opens his eyes again, Timothée looks straight into his, then gives a small smile. 

The next breath from Armie sounds more like a sob. He returns the smile, but his disbelief still wins and he goes back to staring wide-eyed. Timothée lets him take his time, then goes readily when Armie leans closer to kiss him. 

Unlike the night before, dawn seems to make room for their luck. The moment they realize they’re no longer weighed down, the air shifts rapidly and their excitement takes over. Their kiss gets more and more heated as Armie touches all across the expanse of his torso, feeling up all the exposed skin as his touch leaves a trail of deep flush wherever it goes. Timothée arches off the bed, feeling heady with the sensation. His own hands find the hem of Armie’s shirt and they break apart momentarily to get it off. Armie goes up on his knees and shoves his pants down, then moves to tugging off his. He crawls up to his abdomen and kisses his scar, then slowly up to his chest and neck. Armie nuzzles and breathes him in as he parts his legs, finding his hole and fingering it. 

The moan doesn’t make it past his mouth when Armie closes his lips over his, kissing him breathily. Timothée hisses when Armie grazes his prostate, but the alpha swallows down the sounds as he works him open. It wasn’t ever a problem for them before, so Timothée tries to keep himself in his head before they get carried away. Still, it’s hard to resist the urge to touch, and he takes Armie in his hands and pumps at the length. Armie muffles his moan into his neck, then splits him open further with his fingers. 

Timothée rearranges his legs and releases his grip on Armie’s cock, lying flat on his back and inviting the alpha between his legs. Wordlessly, Armie follows his directions and kneels on the mattress. They breathe a sigh of relief in each other’s mouths when Armie sinks all the way in. Their movements are languid and careful in consideration of their unbelievable reunion. Armie keeps his mouth on every inch of skin that he can latch on to Timothée, while he lets his hands roam all over the alpha’s body. 

Armie keeps his thrusts slow and deep, his fingers going in Timothée’s hair and cradling his face. Overwhelmed, Timothée feels his eyes shutting as he arches his back, his hips tilting upwards to receive him better. Armie puts their mouths together and pushes his tongue inside. When he feels his stomach tightening, Timothée lifts his hips even more and slips his hands between them, jerking himself off. Armie straightens up and wraps his hand around his, his thrusts getting shallow as he chases his own orgasm. When Timothée comes, he feels himself close in tightly around Armie, and it pushes him over the edge, his dick spilling inside. 

It takes them a few minutes to come down from their morning sex, but it surely wakes them up. Armie is nearly purring on his side, nuzzling his face to Timothée’s and breathing into his neck. When the haze clears, Armie forces him up then opens the windows. Timothée turns on his side and watches him walk to his bags and crouch to take out his fragrance, spraying it everywhere. 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this shit. It’s like college all over again.” Armie grouses, taking fresh sets of clothes to prepare for a shower. 

Timothée guffaws, then feels the come spill to his thigh and he freezes. 

“What?” Armie asks worriedly, fanning the towel around to get the ventilation to get rid of the smell. 

Shoving his head into the pillow, Timothée wills himself to close down. “Are you on birth control?” 

Armie blinks at him. “No.” 

Timothée groans, pushing the heels of his palm to his eyes. “Oh my God,” 

“We’ll fly today, anyway. Let’s just get plan B in the city.” 

“Right, let’s shower.” 

Licking his lips, Armie asks “Round two?” 

“At your age?” Timothée teases cheekily. 

Armie’s scent flares to the challenge. He stalks towards him and slings him over his shoulder, then risks walking stark naked to the shower. Even in his late thirties, Armie still, in fact, got it. 

By the time that the house starts to wake up, they’ve pretty much gotten rid of the signs of their morning reunion. The fact that Timothée is up early and is helping in the kitchen is very telling though. When Nicole walks out of her room and finds them cuddling under the warm kitchen lamp, she gives Timothée a teasing smile then proceeds with her day. Astrid comes running down much later, looking for the two of them so she can tell them about girls’ night with aunt Pauline. Breakfast is served over his triumphantly nosy family and his thankfully oblivious daughter. 

Since Pauline’s generosity seems to know no bounds, she even takes over Astrid’s bags, packing everything she’ll need for the five day trip to Paris. They’re in her room, fiddling with her stuff and playing dress up. Timothée shakes his head and follows Armie to his room where he’s already packing. 

“Pauline and Astrid’s tickets are an hour ahead of ours. Apparently, she told her that we’ll only meet up again the day after tomorrow.” Timothée relays, sitting down on the floor next to Armie and helping him fold. 

Even before Armie opens his mouth, Timothée already knows he’s just going to be a dick. “Damn, we need to figure out a short-term plan.” 

“Bold of you to assume that you’re getting a piece of this.” 

Armie drops the pants he’s folding and focuses on Timothée. Alarmed, Timothée falls backwards to slap the door shut, but Armie only laughs at him. Rolling his eyes, Timothée reaches for a shirt to fling at him, but Armie pounces and bites on his shoulder. 

“Ow!” Timothée whines, pushing him away. He still throws the shirt to his face. “Quit being an ass and pack your stuff.” 

Laughing, Armie folds it and puts it inside his bag. “This is it, I think.” 

Timothée looks around the room. “Don’t you want to check?” 

“Well,” Armie shrugs, noncommittal. “I’ll return in a month anyway.” 

The certainty warms Timothée to his core. Looking at Armie, he leans forward and kisses him soundly. 

As is characteristic of Pauline, if she wants it, she gets it. She makes them pretend that they’re not leaving their town yet when they’re actually set to board the next trip. Armie and Timothée just go along, frankly not feeling like disagreeing because they’re quite looking forward to spending alone time together. Even though it’s less than two days, Armie still feels reluctant to part with Astrid. Being the clearly more responsible one, he also has started to casually hint on needing to go back to work. Astrid is familiar with that and asks if he’ll be back for weekends. Armie tells her that he’ll be back for one week every month, and he’ll leave her surprises to play with every week. It delights her to know that she has something to hunt at the start of every week, then goes ahead with Pauline. 

While waiting for their own departure, they walk around and decide on grabbing some coffee. They don’t stray too far since they don’t have a lot of time, but Timothée still enjoys the short stroll immensely. Armie casually takes his hand as they walk and doesn’t let go until they’ve returned and it’s time to leave. 

The staff in Armie’s hotel surprisingly still recognizes him, then the receptionist starts to bat her eyelashes at him and Timothée understands why. Scent neutralizers are common in hotel lobbies and malls for obvious reasons, but Armie still notices when he stiffens up in hostility, no matter how much Timothée tries to mask it. Armie holds back his smile and still acts polite with her, then leads Timothée up to his room. 

Armie is totally up to no good when he faces him once the elevator door closes. “Are you jealous?”

“Yes.” Timothée answers right away, surprising Armie. 

“What? Really?” Somehow, Armie finds it funny  _ and  _ exciting. 

Stepping up to it, Timothée turns his head to glower at Armie. “I’d fuck you until you smell like me.” 

They’re peeling off each other’s clothes right at the doorstep of Armie’s hotel room. Timothée gets hoisted up against the wall with Armie’s hands gripping under his thighs, his neck getting kissed and bitten that he feels delirious with it. When he regains composure, Timothée kicks his legs out, breaking out of the alpha’s hold. Once on his feet, Timothée pushes Armie by the shoulder until he’s leaning on the wall then drops on his knees. Armie catches on fast, taking his cock in his hand and feeding it into his mouth. Timothée bobs his head eagerly on the length, taking in as much as he can and sucking in ways he remembers that Armie likes. It thrills him to see Armie’s eyes rolling to the back of his head, his hand going in his hair and tugging hard on the strands. 

Timothée slows down until Armie gets his focus back on him. When their eyes meet, Timothée slides off his cock and replaces it with his own fingers, putting on a show for Armie as he sucks them to the knuckles, then brings it to his hole as he reaches backwards. Armie doesn’t get a chance to react when Timothée immediately returns to blowing him, his free hand stroking and twisting at the base. 

It takes a few attempts, but Armie finally gets him to stop and brings their mouths together in a shattering kiss. His hands grope on Timothée’s ass, parting it so his fingers can slip in. They walk backwards until the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed. Once on it, Timothée flips on his stomach and presents, earning himself a growl. 

Having enough of teasing, Armie mounts him right away, sheathing his cock all the way then slams his hips brutally. His hands grip on Timothée’s waist, keeping him in place and forcing him to endure the impact. It’s exactly how Timothée wants it, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as his jaw goes slack from pleasure. Chuckling darkly, Armie covers his back with his chest when he bends forward, then gives a hard bite on his shoulder, making him cry out. They stay like that for the most part; Armie reclaiming what’s his while Timothée offers himself without hesitation. 

The moment he feels the knot swelling on the base of Armie’s dick, Timothée tilts his hips to apply pressure to his own, staving off his orgasm. Armie seeks his mouth and kisses him, the angle weird and uncomfortable but they make it work. Timothée rolls his hips and flexes his thighs so he can meet the thrusts, and the sudden change works magic that Armie rapidly starts to lose his breath until his knot pops, locking them together. 

Armie is still shuddering as he hovers behind Timothée when he pulls him down to collapse on his back, then rolls them over so he’s lying on top of Armie, facing the ceiling. Just like that, Timothée works himself to his own orgasm by milking on the knot, jerking himself off until his own release hits him. 

They pass out after that round, exhausted once the rush of their arousal dies down. When Timothée stirs, he’s wrapped in a towel and is being carried to the bathtub. Armie smiles at him once he’s set down in it, giving him a quick peck on the nose. He prepares the bath dutifully, watching the temperature and checking the products before squeezing it into the water. Timothée reaches out a hand until Armie accepts and joins him in the bath. They cuddle together, slipping in and out of sleep until the water gets uncomfortably cold. Armie gets out and fetches the towel, drying himself then spreading another for Timothée to step into. 

“That feels nice,” Timothée tells him as Armie massages his lower back after they get dressed. 

Armie hums, kissing his forehead. “You’ll be sore.” 

“It’s alright. I miss it.” Timothée answers, closing his eyes as he enjoys the sensation. 

“Has there been anyone?” Armie asks casually. 

Timothée shakes his head without opening his eyes. There’s nothing to worry about. Armie isn’t even worried about it. He’s just curious. 

“Me neither.” Armie confesses, the smile evident in his voice even before Timothée opens his eyes to check. 

Looking at him, he questions “Why is that?” 

“None of them is you.” Armie brushes the hair framing his face, smiling dazedly at him. 

Timothée is pleased about that. They’re getting their effortless chemistry back, and this time it’s actually healthy and functional. 

Even if they don’t talk about it, Armie’s actions already show how differently he’s treating everything. Without the restrictions of a sexual contract, he’s just about the biggest sap that Timothée has ever known. Instead of ordering in, Armie gets them a table in a nice restaurant a few blocks away. They have a romantic, candlelit dinner overlooking the cityscape. Afterwards, they go around the town hand in hand, chatting incessantly and pausing to kiss in street corners. They shop too, mostly for Astrid, and then a bunch of random things that Armie gets for his grandmother, his mom, Pauline, and even Élodie. The fact that he remembers specific details about the people in Timothée’s life is sweet and touching. 

They return to their hotel room near midnight, their hands full of shopping bags and some snacks that they picked up. This time, they’re more content to lie down and talk some more. 

“We’re about to get an overflowing supply of knitted blankets back home.” Timothée tells him sleepily, recalling the chunky yarns Armie paid for and got delivered to their countryside address. 

“I’m expecting a blanket of my own that considers my height.” Armie sounds just as drowsy, but his amusement is there. 

Timothée smiles, reminded again that Armie is definitely returning. “I’ll let her know.” 

Lazy morning sex is definitely something that Timothée can get used to. He wakes up slowly to the feeling of kisses tenderly dropped on his face, until his smile blooms and Armie knows he’s awake. His lips cover his before he can open his eyes, but Timothée isn’t complaining. 

“Good morning,” Armie greets him with a peck on the nose. 

Feeling bolder, Timothée answers “Could be better.” 

Armie lets himself get pushed down on the bed as Timothée climbs on top of him, sitting on his half hard cock and moaning as he feels it growing inside. He puts his hands on Armie’s chest as he moves his hips in slow, sensual rolls. Armie’s breathing is labored pretty fast at the sight of him riding him, and Timothée revels in the alpha’s enjoyment of his body. Taking himself in his hand, Timothée holds Armie’s gaze as he builds a rhythm between the movements of his hips and the pumping of his hand on his cock. 

They’re still familiar with each other in bed, which only tells them that the one thing they count on to be genuine is actually true. It’s sex like this that they know isn’t build to last, not with the intensity and passion that drive it. Their orgasms are spilling some time later, shaking them awake. 

Armie opts for a room service for their breakfast, something that Timothée teases him for. He’s always a good sport and rides the banter without second thought. The phone rings while they’re waiting, and they’re thankfully dressed and put together already to go on a FaceTime with their daughter and Pauline. 

“Oh, okay good; you’re presentable.” Pauline’s face is on the screen first, blocking Astrid’s view just in case. “Morning boss,” she gives a salute to Armie. 

Scoffing, Timothée says “Wow, you just  _ had  _ to make it weirder.” 

Whatever Pauline is going to say is cut off by Astrid popping up to the screen, greeting them cheerfully. She launches on to telling them about their plans for the day and what she did with aunt Pauline the day before. It’s quite an extensive call that goes on until their breakfast arrives. Astrid is also curious about their day, which Timothée supplies with stories of their shopping. She gets sidetracked at every other sentence she hears, because she’s four, but they’re still hopelessly charmed by her so it doesn’t matter. 

When the call ends, Armie lets out a long, heavy sigh and leans against the headboard. “It’s going to be like this for three weeks until I see her again.” 

Timothée smiles and snuggles close to him. “I’ll look into visiting you in the U.S.”

It’s quite a long shot, but Armie is worth that trouble. 

“Tell me when, I’ll get your tickets for you.” Armie replies, then shoots him a look when he tries to argue. 

Timothée shakes his head at him and opts to save his protests for another time.

They lay cuddling together, browsing the drive that contains pictures from the last three weeks. It’s ridiculous how it looks like Armie has been with them for years rather than just less than a month. Astrid is so familiar and comfortable around him, even in candid frames. There’s a notification for a shared folder, which opens to distance shots taken by Pauline of the three of them, whether they’re playing together or watching over Astrid as they sit side by side. The moment it flashes on the screen, Armie’s breath catches and he releases it in a long sigh, along with a shocked laugh. He turns his head to drop a kiss on Timothée’s head then nuzzles there. 

Blushing, Timothée leans closer and shares it to Armie, who takes his phone out and saves the folder to his internal storage. He replaces his default wallpaper with a photo of him tossing Astrid in the air while Timothée stands over them with a smile. 

“I love this,” Armie tells him, staring at the screen then in his eyes. 

Timothée feels his heart hammering in his chest. “Me too,” he replies. 

Smiling, Armie leans forward and kisses him chastely, then a little more, until Timothée hears himself sighing into his mouth while their tongues graze over each other. Their gadgets are put away shortly after that, then their clothes, until Armie is breathing in on his skin, worshipping the expanse of his upper body that he can reach. Timothée arches and swells under his touch, parting his legs further to accommodate Armie when he rises back up and spoons him. Hooking a hand to hold up his thigh, Armie turns them to lie on their sides, chest to back, then slips his cock inside, slowly getting the muscles to relax around the girth then picking up the pace eventually. Timothée touches himself lazily, head lolled to the side and letting Armie nibble and kiss on his neck as they fuck. When Timothée comes, his entire body spasms with it, making Armie groan loudly in his ear. His hole squeezes tight as he rides out his orgasm, and he starts moving his hips to help Armie reach his own. Not long after, Armie is gasping in his ear, then biting into the flesh on his shoulder as his own cock throbs and empties himself inside with shaky moans. 

The way they are in bed reminds Timothée of the time when he claimed Armie, and the sex turned more intimate than primal. Once Armie pulls out, he takes a minute to snuggle before kissing his forehead to fetch a cloth to clean them with. Timothée moves around without getting up so he can watch him return with a t-shirt that he ran under the tap to dampen, then begins wiping him clean. 

“So, that morning after pill.” Timothée reminds him, amused. 

Armie chuckles and throws the shirt to the laundry pile. “Later, at lunch.” 

“I have little to no chance of conceiving outside a heat.” Timothée traces his fingers on the bone structure of Armie’s face as they lay sharing a pillow. 

“So, risk it?” Armie is far too cheerful about the suggestion. 

Laughing, Timothée smacks him on the shoulder. “We’re still getting one, asshole.” 

When Armie’s expression shifts, Timothée is already shaking his head, then catches his hand when he feels it tracing his scar. 

“Stop it.” Timothée scolds him, lacing their fingers together and keeping it away. 

“I can’t,” Armie admits. “It kills me to know that you went through all of that on your own.” 

“Not on my own,” Timothée disagrees adamantly. 

“I wish I was there.” 

“You’re here now.” 

It’s not what Armie wants, but it's what they have. Finally, he gives a nod and pulls Timothée to his chest. 

They eat out for lunch and get that emergency contraceptive that Timothée can’t swallow because Armie keeps making him laugh. Armie makes him talk about his future plans, and it’s a relief to be able to talk about it easier now that he’s not withholding information. He still has two terms left at the university, but afterwards he’ll look into applying for work, either in Lyon or Paris, but he’s leaning towards the former more since it’s near their hometown and it’s not as crowded and expensive. Armie listens attentively and takes note of everything as they stroll and snack all around the city. 

Armie gets the idea and starts asking Timothée about the areas in Paris. Suspicious, he stares at the alpha until he admits thinking of getting a place in the city. 

“What if I end up in Lyon?” Timothée questions him. 

Armie only shrugs. “It’s about three years from now. I’ll just get another place there.” 

“Why are you like this?” 

“I’m rich.” 

Timothée shoves him away, laughing. 

They return after grabbing dinner, and Armie walks to the front desk to check on something that Timothée immediately forgets when the same receptionist acts too friendly with him. This time, Timothée expects it, but that doesn’t mean he’s not glowering until the interaction is over. Armie catches him glaring and laughs again, peppering kisses on his face as they walk away from the lobby. 

Unlike the last time, Timothée just brushes it off and invites Armie to the shower. They make out under the spray and play around with the soap. It’s a significantly lighter mood, mischievous and teasing that Timothée slips from Armie’s hold and runs to the other side of the bed. Armie is unfairly long limbed and manages to snatch his wrist before he can bolt again, locking him in an embrace then jumping on the bed. 

Laughing, Timothée squirms and kicks as Armie kisses him everywhere and tickles his flank. “Stop, stop,” he says between his gasps, already breathless. He frees his hands and brings Armie’s face to his own, kissing him. 

They part slowly, Armie not opening his eyes right away and breathing him in first. “Claim me,” he says, his lids still fluttering before he finally focuses his stare. 

It’s not going to be discussed, not with how much Timothée’s scent blooms along with the warmth in his chest. Nodding, he answers “This time, you’re returning it.” 

Armie is on board with that, and they tangle with each other immediately after the short exchange, rolling around the bed as they move together, Armie fitting in easier this time. Feeling braver, Timothée works the cock inside him until he feels Armie form a knot, and he makes sure they claim each other at the exact moment that the knot pops. The intensity of it knocks them out, waking only at dawn the next day.

The claim feels exactly like how Armie described it years ago, but Timothée is instinctively aware that it’s so much better when reciprocated. They leave the hotel room to watch the sunrise together, wrapped in each other and kissing sweetly until the warm morning light envelops the city. 

They meet with Pauline in the afternoon to pick up Astrid. No words are said about the claim, but it’s obvious that her brows are nearly up to her hairline with surprise. Once Timothée finishes coddling Astrid, she moves to Armie and starts to talk about all the things she did while they’re apart. 

Timothée turns his head when he feels Pauline stand beside him.  _ “You’re not gonna tell me we’re acting a little rash?”  _

Huffing, Pauline surprises him by shaking her head.  _ “No, not with the way you look at each other.”  _

The rest of Armie’s stay is spent on taking Astrid to more child-friendly places all around Paris. The way Armie breaks the news to her that he’s leaving is little by little, like he’s normalizing the conversation until it stops to faze Astrid altogether and she no longer thinks it’s a big deal. It’s hard to stop Armie from literally getting Astrid anything she wants, but they find a middle ground where they compromise to only get her something of a certain price range or a particular amount. 

Timothée’s heart feels so full the entire time, eternally grateful that this miraculously worked out in the end and now they get to raise Astrid as a family. Every single hour that they spend together strengthens his resolve to make this work, no matter how hard it gets. It’s bound to happen, eventually, and add to that the fact that they haven’t really combed through all their baggage to say that they’ve dealt with it. Timothée has a strong feeling that they will need that couple’s counseling, but how they’ll do it is yet to be discussed. 

When they finally send Armie off at the airport, Astrid’s biggest worry is that it’ll take time before they see each other again. Armie is unbelievably more effective and wiser in handling their child than Timothée had been when he had to leave for university. He can definitely use someone like that in his life. 

It doesn’t take two weeks before Timothée and Armie get comfortable - or desperate, depending who you ask - to touch themselves over calls. It works out somehow, when Astrid is already asleep in her room and it’s midnight in his timezone while it’s just evening at Armie’s. In more respectable hours, Astrid and Armie do get to chat and even play. Their French lessons even pick up despite the distance. The gifts are also massively helpful that Astrid has learned to look forward to every week for the hunt. It also gives them something to talk about every time they FaceTime. 

Timothée tries to ask Armie about what he had to give up to adjust his work so they would let him have one week off every month, but he’s always brushed off casually. To Armie, it’s really not a big deal, and it pleases Timothée as much as it guilts him. Armie scolds him every single time, disapproving of how he’s overly concerned about the salary cut when it’s not Armie’s  _ only _ income stream. 

“Someone didn’t grow up poor and it shows.” Timothée called him out one time during a call, already tucked under his blankets and waiting for sleep to come. 

Armie snorted through his food. “There are more important things than money.” 

“Never been poor, right there.” Timothée quipped, then Armie just proceeded with his regularly scheduled program where he pretended like money doesn’t exist. 

It’s obviously a direct result of Armie’s exorbitantly wealthy upbringing, as well as his natural intelligence that allowed him to maintain it. Timothée just sighed, shaking his head fondly. 

Armie returns the following month and stays for a week. It’s a surprise when one morning he just knocks to their doorstep, bags in hand. Astrid is still asleep then so Timothée welcomes him, still in his pajamas with a bedhead. 

“You’re a sight.” Armie walks straight to him and wraps him in an embrace. 

Timothée breathes him in, enjoying his touch after going weeks without it. “It’s my best self.” 

They spend the week mostly just at home, playing and napping together. Armie prefers it anyway. If his stories are anything to go by, his return to work had been stressful because of his demand to have a week off every month. It’s still under negotiation to this day, but he says it’s coming along. Timothée wants to pry the topic further, but stops himself from doing so. Honestly, it’s pointless because the only solution is to drop the demand, which means they won’t see Armie as regularly. The protests are guilt-driven, and Armie wants none of it. 

Another activity that Timothée enjoys is doing errands together. It’s one of those simple things that he cherishes deeply. Back then, he found it difficult to even ask for his mom’s help, since she’s still practically taking care of him when she should be in retirement by now. It’s even a greater humiliation that he accepts the offer to return to university. With Armie around, Timothée finds more fulfillment and happiness. They’re a family, and he isn’t merely surviving from day to day. 

Astrid sleeps in her own bedroom most nights, and they tuck her in every time. They both know what’s to come once she’s asleep, and they return to their own room with a thrum buzzing between them. It’s amazing how fast they adapt to each other in bed - truly it’s their element - and they learn to have their way with each other in silence. The amount of hickeys are ridiculous though, so they stay covered up during the day. 

When it’s time to part, Astrid seems to have gotten with the rhythm. It’s just a normal occurrence to her by now, and she knows her father will be back the following month. 

It’s become a routine to include their FaceTime schedules in their day. That’s also in consideration of their phone sex, and Timothée wants to strangle Armie one night when he orders an HD webcam for his laptop. 

“What the fuck is this?” Timothée’s face was in his hands, his phone leaning against the window as he opened the parcel. 

Armie was laughing on the other line. “It’s for special occasions.” 

Timothée wasn’t even  _ that _ against it. It’s just mortifying to have it delivered to his grandmother’s house. 

The second month that Armie will be in France for a week is the last one before Timothée’s term resumes. They spend it in Paris instead, and they just fly to meet him there. Armie is looking at hotels to book until Pauline looks at him funny and asks him what’s the point when they can just sleep in Timothée’s bedroom in her flat, which is what they settled with. Entertaining themselves in Paris can easily get expensive, but Armie just goes. They’ve seen a musical and gone to theme parks. 

Timothée is casually eating a candy while Armie balances himself against a pole. 

“What the fuck?” Armie complains, still feeling dizzy after going on a ride. “My eyeballs are throbbing, I swear to God. I need someone to take my blood pressure.”

Astrid is entertained by the fishes at a nearby stall. Timothée keeps his eyes on her the whole time, unbothered by Armie’s upside down stomach. 

“Poor you,” he says, chewing his snack. 

Since he’s already in the city, Timothée goes to his university for his enrollment for the upcoming term. Pauline takes Astrid for the day as Armie insists on going with him. It’s reminiscent of the first weeks that they reunited and the alpha picked him up and grabbed meals with him while he’s finishing the semester. They do a lot of it still; they went to the cafe and got drinks and desserts, they walked around the campus while Timothée told a few stories, they ate together in his favorite place right across his college. The stark difference is how this time, they hold hands and Armie just casually pulls him for a kiss or a hug. 

“Wait what?” Armie snoops on his university fees. “Wow, it’s cheap to study in Europe.” 

Timothée follows his gaze, reading the breakdown of the cost. “Yeah, especially if you’re a citizen. It’s the cost of living that kills.” 

“I’m getting a flat here.” Armie announces suddenly. “In Paris.” 

“Uh, okay?” Timothée doesn’t know how to categorize that. 

“For us.” Armie clarifies, walking him to the cashier. 

Timothée stops and narrows his eyes. “Uh-huh,” he grumbles suspiciously. “Anything else?” 

“Yep,” Armie pinches the edge of the paper. “Let me get your fees.” 

“Why?” 

“I’m providing for you.” 

“I can get this.” 

“Can’t I do that instead? I want to.” 

Unconvinced, Timothée moved their discussion to a bench on the grass. “I don’t need you to overcompensate for  _ anything.  _ You’re already doing enough.” 

“I’m not doing this out of guilt.” Of course Armie won’t have any issues with calling it as it is. “I just want to take care of you and Astrid.” 

“There are other ways.” Timothée replies in annoyance. 

“Why are you fighting me on this? It doesn't make you any less of a person to accept help.” 

“So you _ are  _ overcompensating.” 

“I’m not the one who rejects an act of caring for the hell of it.” 

The truth of the matter is Timothée already feels like a burden to Pauline from being dependent on her for his education. To think of accepting Armie’s offer already weighs on him greatly, like he’s an even bigger baggage. 

In the end, Armie lets him have his way with the fees, but they’re both visibly upset with each other. They return to the flat after picking up a couple of things from the grocery. It’s hard to act around Astrid when they don’t feel like talking to each other, but at least Pauline is there to keep her busy once she senses that they’ve fought. It doesn’t stop her from signaling to him though, jutting her head to Armie’s direction. 

The moment Pauline and Astrid disappear in her bedroom, Armie pushes himself off the chair and approaches Timothée on the couch. 

“I’m sorry.” He says simply, looking at him. “You’re right, I think I’m overcompensating. It’s clearly something you already got covered. I didn’t mean to offend you.” 

Timothée’s chest clenches. He’s always helpless the moment Armie puts his guard down, no matter how much he hardens himself. 

“I’m insecure with more than just this.” He tells him, looking down on his hands. 

Armie pulls him to his chest, cuddling him. “We’ll work on it.” 

They send Armie off to the airport the next day, and Timothée is thankful that they’ve made up already before they part. Still, it inevitably opens their glove box a little bit more, and they’re trying to navigate through this newly exposed dilemma. It creates a tension between them as well. Armie treads carefully, like he’s self-conscious with everything that comes out of his mouth, and for some reasons that only irritates Timothée further. When it happens, he just chooses to hang up and go to bed early or bring Astrid or anyone else in the house on the call just to escape the mood. 

One night, Armie evidently had enough of it and decided to try to do something. 

“Do you think it’s time? For that counseling?” He asked carefully, watching him through the screen. 

Timothée sighed loudly, knowing full well that they  _ should,  _ but it sounded stupid at that time, considering the circumstances. “How are we doing that? We’re on two different continents.” 

The only reason that it didn’t blow up to a fight was because Armie dropped it right away. 

By Armie’s third visit, Timothée is already back in university, and Astrid’s classes are also back on. There’s no way to get them all together for the week, so Armie splits his time between them. He stays in Paris for the first three days, picking him up from classes to go on dinner dates. It’s still early in the semester so there’s not much to do yet. 

“I’m getting a tour for tomorrow in a flat by the district.” Armie tells him carefully over dinner. 

Timothée looks up from his food, then polishes his knife to set it down. “You’re sure about that?” 

Shrugging, Armie says “Not really.” He pauses to wipe the corners of his mouth then takes a gulp of his wine. “It’s a three bedroom loft.” 

_ For us.  _ It’s left unsaid between them. Armie is asking for his permission. 

“No harm in checking,” Timothée answers after a few seconds. He decides to deflect it. “It might not be as good as it looks on the listings. Your opinion can still change.” 

Of course, Armie knows exactly what he’s doing, but only hums in response. He’s leaving the next day for Le Chambon-sur-Lignon, and he clearly doesn’t want to end their time together with a fight. 

They FaceTime regularly, and they keep up a conversation as Armie sends clips and witty commentaries about their day. There’s still trouble simmering at the far back, but they’d much rather not dwell on it when they can’t even be together. 

This time, Timothée doesn’t even see Armie off as he flies out from Lyon. It digs a hollow in his stomach, his regret pouring in rapidly. He wishes he’d tried harder to push past the lump in his throat and talked about the issue they dug up. Now, they’ll be apart for another month, and the next meeting won’t be much different than this. 

Once Timothée realizes that Armie is trying even harder to get them back on track, he instantly follows the lead. Their claim is also fading, since without suppressants, their cycles are supposed to hit by now. It could be a reason why Armie decides to step it up himself. He’s always been the one with his head above the surface. As always, Timothée feels his guilt eat him up from inside out, but he can barely muster up the courage to address it either. It’s frustrating to see how much patience Armie can spare him with, but deep down he’s eternally grateful as well. 

Their sex drive hasn’t changed much despite the growing tension, but then that probably shouldn’t come off as a surprise. They did start off this way. It’s alarming though. Timothée wants nothing more than to stay as far away in the opposite direction as that state of relationship that they used to have. At the same time, they find it as an effective way to relax a little bit. They turn more affectionate after an orgasm, a far cry from their maintained cautiousness on normal interactions. 

“Armie,” he calls out as he lies on his bed, cooling down from coming hard on himself. 

“Yes?” He answers gently, watching him. 

“We should start figuring out the counseling part.” Timothée finally says. 

Armie’s face blooms to a relieved smile. “Okay,” he agrees easily. “Okay.” 

It’s like the sky opened up after that. They’re cheerful and comfortable again, not as though they’re instantly cleared off their lingering tension, but more of the weight of it is taken off their shoulder. They took a step towards the right direction, and it’s rewarding them. They go on phone calls when their free times sync, then plans a few trips to go to when their schedules permit it. Even Pauline notices the gradual change in the mood, drawling out a loud ‘finally’ when she hears them chatting over the phone on the couch. It’s going good, and Timothée even surprises Armie one night by providing him with a list of places they can go to for that therapy. 

At this point, Timothée should’ve taken it to mean that they’re up for another storm again. He really should remember that one of his personality traits is that he can’t seem to have nice things. True to this, Timothée finds out something that throws him off completely just as they’re driving to pick up Armie in the airport. 

_ “Has Armie talked about his transfer plans? I know I shouldn’t ask but I'm curious.”  _ Pauline asked him as they drove to Lyon, Astrid napping in the backseat. 

Confused, Timothée answered  _ “Transfer to what?”  _

Pauline blinked at him.  _ “Astrid told me that Armie said he’ll move here permanently. To France.”  _

Timothée felt heated right away.  _ “Did he now?”  _

_ “Yeah,”  _ Pauline sensed the change in the air. She clearly wanted to say more, but she’d always kept away from their relationship unless it directly affected Astrid. 

Their drive is spent in silence; Timothée on edge the entire time and buzzing with irritation. When they finally see Armie arriving, he visibly tensed when he feels the air but still pulls him for a hug and kisses the top of his head. They put up a show for Astrid and act normal for the most part; grabbing dinner on the way back, shopping some snacks for her in the nearby store, chatting listlessly about anything. 

That night, Astrid decides to sleep with them in the bed, which is perfect, because Timothée really isn’t having the time of his life with Armie. Still, it’s a restless sleep, and he wakes up at dawn and hears the shower running and some noises in the kitchen. When he goes down the first couple of steps, he sees Armie, fresh out of shower, and already preparing for breakfast. 

Armie barely looks up to the staircase landing. “You’re up early.” 

They have a small window right now to hash it out. Timothée doesn’t feel like waiting either. “Why did you tell Astrid that you’re moving here in France?” 

Sighing, Armie replies “It’s supposed to be a surprise, when things are final at work.” 

“So it’s true?” Timothée demands, rounding the kitchen to stand in front of him. 

“Yes,” Armie answers simply. 

Frustrated, Timothée turns away and tugs at his hair. “Why? You’re giving her false hope.” 

“I’m not.” The accusation seems to irk Armie. “I  _ am  _ moving. Do you not want me to?” 

No, it’s not that. It’s all too much. It’s Armie’s entire life that he’s turning upside down, but Timothée is still a fuck up who can’t figure out how to keep a relationship. His work, too. It guilts Timothée to think that he’s throwing away his stable life to transfer in France, where he doesn’t even speak the language. Armie is sacrificing so much and he’s not even sure how to meet him halfway, or if he can at all. This should’ve been something they run through between the two of them, but now Astrid will hold it over Armie’s head, and real life isn’t  _ that  _ easy. You can’t just pack up and have everything work out. 

“How can you make life altering decisions without thinking it through? Timothée whips around to glower at him. 

“I have! I thought this through; it’s  _ all  _ I thought about since I left after my first stay.” Armie replies defensively, stopping everything to face. 

“You’re leaving  _ everything.  _ Your life, your work, your friends-”

“They don't need me around to raise them, do they?” 

Timothée grabs a glass and pours water just to have something to do. “How are you even planning to pull this off, then?” 

“I applied for transfer in the company. I’m in the talks to take over both Lyon and Paris. I’m also taking care of the long-term stay thing and my visa.” Armie pauses, hearing the sounds of footsteps upstairs. 

Sighing, he turns back to preparing breakfast. The discussion will be forced to be over soon, since the house will wake up in a couple of minutes. 

“I can be with you, too. We don’t have to make do with that impossible one week a month and squeeze our entire time in there.” Armie tells him silently, still riled up but more controlled, knowing it’s the only way to get him receptive to his point. “Even that counseling isn’t too far-fetched anymore when we’re in the same country.” 

“What if it doesn’t work out? And you just end up in a foreign country, resenting me-”

“Why is it so impossible for you to think of just  _ trying?  _ You immediately assume failure when it hasn’t even started yet.” 

“I’m being  _ realistic.  _ I’m telling you that if we make impulsive decisions now, Astrid will carry that forever.” Timothée snaps angrily. 

Armie looks absolutely offended. “Me wanting to be with you and our daughter isn’t an impulsive decision I made overnight.” 

“Sure as hell seems like it.” 

“Just because you’re unaware of it doesn’t mean it hasn’t existed before.”

“Then why couldn’t you discuss it with me first?” 

Armie scoffs at him. “Well, we’re discussing it now and it’s going spectacularly.” 

A door swings open and clicks shut upstairs. Pauline is walking in the hallway, probably to join Armie in making breakfast. They glare at each other one more time before Timothée turns away, leaving the conversation at that and returning to bed. Pauline would be able to tell that they fought again, and he can still smell the hostility in the air even when he’s back in his room already. 

Their day is strained at best. Armie is clearly upset with him, and because he’s making a point Timothée let him, just so he can rethink his decision because if he moves it won’t just be this once a week every month. It’ll be like this  _ constantly.  _ Timothée is not even nearly satisfied with himself to trust to be with someone else, especially when all it looks like is Armie not knowing what he’s getting himself into. Astrid remains cheerfully clueless about the tension between her parents, which is alright because she can come up with ways to entertain them and function as normal as possible. 

Of course, everyone in the family notices. Their grandma isn’t all that worried. She was married for decades and knows this isn’t a breaking point. Nicole is more concerned, knowing full well how drastic Timothée can be, like running away from the father of his child and disappearing for five years. Out of everyone, Pauline is the one who’s unabashed about the way she feels. She doesn’t say anything, and she doesn’t need to. Her disapproval is all over her scent and body language. 

That night, Armie puts Astrid to bed and goes ahead to do whatever he needs to before sleep. Timothée stays behind to help with some chores, and it’s how Pauline corners him as he puts away the dishes. 

_ “What’s going on?”  _ Pauline picks up a plate from the stack and begins to help him. 

_ “You know already.”  _ Timothée is promptly irritated to be pried about it when it’s obvious. 

_ “What’s wrong with it?”  _

_ “It’s stupid.”  _

Pauline stops and stares at him.  _ “Why?” _

He hates it when he’s talked to like this. Every question seems to back him up against the wall as a set up to hook himself on a bait. 

Sighing, Pauline pushes lightly on his shoulder so he’s facing her.  _ “Tell me.”  _ She urges with a curt nod.  _ “Why are you rejecting him now when he’s doing this to make things easier for you?”  _

_ “That’s it! Does he really think there’s something with this?”  _ Timothée gestures to himself, vague as it is 

_ “You want to buy yourself time to be better for him but you do nothing to get there.”  _ Pauline gets it spot on, staring at him intently. 

Timothée feels he sting in his eyes the moment he hears the statement and he tries to turn away. Pauline catches him by the shoulder and plants him where he stands. 

She sighs, exasperated.  _ “Listen, he knows, okay? Armie isn’t blindly following you because he’s guilty or he’s attached or he feels obliged because of the kid. Have you asked him about how much he looked for you for a year when you left?”  _

It gets Timothée’s attention. He shakes his head. As far as he can remember, Armie looked for him for a year and stopped afterwards. 

_ “He cut his time for everything else to look for you. It’s all he ever did outside his own work. Did you know why he didn’t hire anyone? Because he’s unwilling to risk it. He knew he could find you, but he also considered you. If he hired a private investigator to find you, Armie was sure you’d hate him forever; for violating your privacy, for not respecting your decision. So unless he can find you himself, he’s not taking it.”  _

It doesn’t take a genius from there to figure out that they do more than just exercising in the morning. Pauline waits for him to acknowledge what she said before picking up her rant. 

When she sees him nod, Pauline adds  _ “He wanted to find you all this time, but all he thought of was what’s convenient for you. This is the first thing I heard out of his mouth that he’s doing for himself. He wants to stay close to you, what’s so bad about that?”  _

That, in itself.  _ “I can’t even get my shit together, can’t you see? And yet I’m in love with him, and I don’t want to trap him with me because I can see it and I know that he loves me, too.”  _

_ “Oh my God, Timothée! He knows! He knew all along!”  _

_ “What?”  _

_ “Yes! He knows you love him! And he knows you’re a difficult son of a bitch but he's choosing you anyway!”  _

Timothée gapes, unsure how to respond. 

Pauline rolls her eyes then grips his shoulders, forcing him to look at her.  _ “He loves you, and he knows you love him, and he’s given you every ounce of consideration and respect because he knows how easy it is to scare you off. I don’t even doubt that he’ll put this on hold if you really demand it, but Tim.”  _ She sighs deeply, like she’s pained with the entire ordeal.  _ “He already knows what he’s getting himself into, okay? He knows it’s going to take so much work and patience to be with you, and he won’t even think twice on jumping at the opportunity to be by your side.”  _

_ “I don’t deserve it.”  _

_ “That’s not for you to decide, because if it is then he would’ve been gone by now.”  _

Timothée tries to squirm away as he sniffles but Pauline keeps him where he is. 

_ “The ball is on your side; it always has been. You call the shots, all the time. Armie will respect your decision no matter what, even if it’s stupid shit like this. But what about what he deserves? Should he really just give, and give, and give, and have nothing in return because you know he loves you and won’t turn away?”  _

Pauline pulls him in her embrace when he starts outright crying. She doesn’t add anything anymore, just soothes him through his tears and shushes him gently as they stand in the kitchen. All that needs to be said is already out, and Timothée knows it’s another make-or-break for them. If he doesn’t gather up the pieces now, it’ll shatter completely pretty soon. 

When he’s calmed down, Pauline cradles his face and shakes him a little.  _ “Now go to him. Talk. Don’t waste another moment.”  _

For once in his life, Timothée follows his sister’s advice without kicking and screaming along the way. He kisses her forehead and thanks her profusely before running up to his bedroom. When he’s standing outside the door, he’s hit immediately by the mingled scent of Armie and himself, and the steam that brings him there fizzles out in an instant. 

It’s probably for the better, so he doesn’t dive in headfirst and fuck things up even more. Timothée needs to keep his wits about him, but the moment he opens the door and finds Armie sitting on the bed, clearly waiting, every plan in his mind crumbles. 

The scent coming from him that fills the air assures Armie that he’s not there to fight. Not anymore. He scoots to the side and makes room for Timothée, which he rushes to occupy. 

“You love me.” He blurts out, his tears returning in his eyes. 

Armie doesn’t even flinch. “Yes.” 

It’s known already, but Timothée is curious. “How long?” 

“I knew after we spent our cycle together.” Armie takes his face in his hand, cupping it gently. 

That's new information, and frankly shocking. Timothée understands him a little better now when Armie keeps saying ‘five years’ with so much regret. 

Taking a deep breath, Timothée responds “And you know I love you.” 

“Yes.” Armie promptly confirms. 

“Why did you wait?”  _ If you knew all along.  _ Timothée’s tears are caught by Armie’s thumb and he wipes them away. 

“You had to be ready.” 

“I dropped you three times and cut you off for five years. Do you think I’m ready now?” 

Armie frowns, considering the question. “I waited five years, what’s a few more?” 

“I’m ready now.” Timothée declares, moving closer to him. 

Armie’s scent blooms, hopeful and expectant. “That’s good to hear.” 

Timothée wants to get it all out now. “And I love you.” 

The response is instantaneous. Armie brightens up and smiles happily at him. 

Pulling him in his embrace, he says “I love you, too.” 

“And I’m not turning you away ever again. I don’t think my luck would get me by one more time.” Timothée burrows into the dip of Armie’s shoulder, crying silently. 

“You would be surprised with how much your luck would get you by with me.” Armie tells him sincerely, kissing his nose. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick oversharing: I once went out for three months with an American and we broke up because I’m Eurasian (hence 4 languages) I wish it was a joke but I literally can’t take the things out of his mouth and he thinks Europeans are arrogant when I tell him about the healthcare and university fees LMAO 
> 
> Which is why in both of my stories I wrote them heavily European-American oriented, because it’s easier for me since I can relate, even though IRL they’re pretty much Americans.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I know I had an uncharacteristic absence. We had a breaking and entering in my parents' house where I'm staying, though thankfully no one was hurt, or even woken up for that matter (the burglar didn't go in our rooms)
> 
> And then, this is a chapter that I didn't exactly intend to go this way, but I feel like given the events I should give it an equally extensive process of healing. This is some 10k words of therapy, but disclaimer: The most experience I have of being a shrink is when I dated two fuckboys ✌🏻😗 if you know you know

"Good morning," 

"It's afternoon, Mr. Chalamet." 

"Right, so - uh, good afternoon." 

Dr. Manoury smiles at him, kind and reassuring. "Good afternoon," she greets back, amused. "You and Mr. Hammer opted to do this separately for the first few sessions, to air things out since you've been apart for five years. Is that right?" 

"Yes, correct." Timothée purses his lips, nervous. 

Dr. Manoury only stares, waiting for him to continue. 

"Well, his idea, actually. He'd gone through this on his own, back in the States." Timothée clarifies, but he bets Dr. Manoury already knows that from their session. "So we're doing this to have someone uh - I think to thread through our issues?" 

"For context," Dr. Manoury supplies, seemingly pleased with his effort to communicate. 

"Yes," he confirms. 

Dr. Manoury taps her pen - a mannerism - before asking "How do you feel?" 

"About? Going to counseling? Or like in general?" 

Dr. Manoury shrugs, then nods.  _ Any,  _ is what she meant. 

Timothée clears his throat."Nervous. I mean I guess that's normal. But also like, I know - I mean we, Armie and I - that there's a lot that we need to sort. And you can't really keep that in the background for long. It creeps on us a lot."

"What's the tipping point for you? That makes you decide, 'This is it. We need to seek help.'" Dr. Manoury asks gently, testing the waters. 

Taking a deep breath, Timothée recounts the events of the past month, when he nearly drove Armie away by lashing out when he wanted to move to France with them. It was  _ excruciating  _ to say every detail of it; how the tension bubbled under the surface even before that, how often they fought because Timothée refused to be cared for, how easily he got irritated by simple missteps. Dr. Manoury follows everything, even though he stumbles over his words often, and doesn't interrupt by any means. 

The tipping point was finally getting it through his skull and into his brain that Armie knew what he's getting himself into, and still  _ wanted  _ him. That threatened Timothée, because all excuses seemed to have been exhausted already, and if he insisted on pushing Armie away he might just get up and be done with it all. Dr. Manoury smiles approvingly at that, and Timothée knows that so far he's still on a more rational side. 

Once he gestures that he's done, Dr. Manoury nods in understanding. Timothée excuses himself to drink some water. 

"It's very good that you recognize your own behavior, that you know you can do certain things better." Dr. Manoury begins, still maintaining her encouraging demeanor. "For us to thread through this, as you put it, we need to go all the way back to the start."

Timothée chews on his lips, feeling his shame rising at the memory. "Can I-" He gulps loudly, his throat already closing even before he can start. "What's the context that he gave you?" 

Dr. Manoury eyes him curiously. 

"I need to know where we're coming from. It's just - please?" 

There's another glint in her eyes, like she's surprised and pleased by it. "Mr. Hammer does tell me that you might ask that, and he says that you two had an instantaneous scent-bond. He was still married at that time, 'unhappily' he said. It was after he found out his wife had an affair."

In all the five years that Timothée has carried this, he never once said the truth out loud, let alone told another soul.

"That's correct." Timothée concedes, mustering up some courage to call it what it really was. "I became his service omega. Eight months, give or take. He paid me for sex."

Dr. Manoury doesn't flinch. It's likely that Armie already disclosed it. "Can you tell me about it?" 

Technically, that's what they're here for. He doesn't snap at her, though. No need for the hostility when they can just rip it like a bandaid and get things over with. 

"My scent blockers kept failing because they're like puberty ones and I shouldn't be using them anymore, but I didn't really know that because I lived on my own and couldn't spare money for regular checkups." 

Idly, Timothée realizes that it's also the first time he's recalling this story, which is probably for the better. One day, Astrid might ask, and he won't really know what to say. 

"Armie's colleagues liked the bar where I worked, so even though he never returned to the cafe I was in, we still ran into each other." Timothée meets Dr. Manoury's eyes then looks away immediately, feeling too exposed. "I knew I needed to work even harder to afford new ones, but replacing them means going to a doctor, so I just let things be when my blockers go off when he was in the bar. I got more tips like that. Armie figured out why pretty quickly and offered to cover it for me. Accountability, he said. We went to the doctor and that's it. It started the night after we got back from my checkup."

There's a moment when Dr. Manoury looks kind enough to give him a break, but the consideration spurs Timothée even further. After all, he might not find himself in the same rush to spill his guts like he is now. So he continues with the story; he told her that what made it complicated was Timothée encouraging Armie to knot him. He tells her that he seemingly disintegrated all of the remaining resolve in the man to the extent that he offered money in exchange for them to continue doing it. Timothée talks about how awful he felt every single time they part; how he couldn't even look at himself knowing that he's essentially a sex worker to a married alpha and enjoyed it, how despite this he couldn't seem to stop either and manipulated Armie during their time together.

The selfish motivations were also layered with the financial benefit of the arrangement. Timothée admitted to deliberately trying to get the most out of it because knowing he could help his family over in France at that time was too addicting to pass on. That opens the discussion about his father and his passing, which Timothée only glazes over but knows to be an important factor to adding things up in the end. 

"Does anyone know?" Dr. Manoury asks once he gestures to her that he's done. 

"Unless you count Armie's wife at that time, then yes, but as far as I know she didn't know about the money." 

"Tell me about her." 

Timothée thought there wasn't much to say since they only had one conversation, but the words flowed easier than it had been with his own story. Elizabeth Chambers was an alpha woman who had been married to Armie for a decade, and had been with him for twelve. Timothée told Dr. Manoury how convenient it was in the beginning to ignore her existence since it was merely an awareness, not really a personal encounter, but eventually he did. He told her that while he pushed Armie away after that, he couldn't stay away for long and practically ran back to the alpha. Finally, Timothée told her about their cycles syncing, how he unknowingly claimed Armie, and in that moment, all he wanted was to leave the world to burn so he can keep him. 

Dr. Manoury smiles when he finishes, and there's relief in her face as much and there's understanding. "I'm glad that you can talk about this, and you acknowledge your own behavior at that time." 

"I made ridiculous amounts of excuses, sometimes I just didn't care at all and took what I could." Timothée feels himself venting out. "When I found out that Liz cheated first and they were in this weird consensual infidelity stage, I felt entitled to my spot in Armie's life. Now, I just can't believe it."

"You don't see the two of you in a healthier set up?" 

"No, not - wait - yes, I think? I mean, all things considered, we're practically as clean as can be. He's divorced, and I'm - well - I guess not living off of him?" 

Dr. Manoury stares solemnly at him. "It seems to me that you're subconsciously seeking to punish the two of you." 

It already hits Timothée where it hurts. He swallows and looks down on his hands on his lap, finally getting a label for his actions and feeling chastised about it. 

"Wouldn't you say that you two have already paid for it?" Dr. Manoury asks kindly, like she's offering him absolution. 

"In a way, probably." Timothée knows that they suffered plenty during their time apart, and it hadn't been easy for either of them to get back on their feet after. "But I just - I feel  _ awful.  _ Like I can't believe things are going this way, good or bad." 

"So what we're dealing with here is how you respond to them." Dr. Manoury supplies casually, like the answer is obvious all along. 

"How I respond?" Timothée repeats, somewhat confused. 

It seems to have been a test, and Dr. Manoury is pleased that he caught on to it. "You must understand that everyone has urges and impulses and thoughts like this. We all have that force in our heart, that voice in our head, and deep inside all we're hoping to is protect something we think we're at risk of losing." She pauses so he can take it in, then adds "You must forgive yourself for those moments, then redirect to other means of dealing with it."

"And if it fails?" 

"You  _ must _ try again." 

It goes on for a bit after that, though mostly just revolving on giving her the backstory of what she'll be working on. Dr. Manoury praises him over and over and thanks him for being willing to talk, telling him that their progress is already promising because of it. Timothée appreciates her encouragement, and also grateful for how genuinely she treats their session. She's never been judgmental, but rather transparent when she's shocked or pleased. Maybe it's a tactic, but Timothée feels it's more on a normal scale as compared to a paid counseling. 

It was Armie who had found her around the same time that he was looking for residence in Paris. Dr. Manoury was educated and practiced a few years in the United States before moving back to France some two decades past, give or take. Armie had met with her a couple of times already, and since she's just as fluent in English, he naturally gravitated towards her. It proved to be a very good choice and he clicked with her; finding her very perceptive and seasoned that she worked through things with much ease. 

It's been two months since Armie had begun going to her, and a month since Timothée finally bared himself more since letting Armie into his and Astrid's life. He found no change, but nothing was the same either. Armie allowed him to get accustomed to it first, then started saying 'I love you' more often. Timothée said it back and meant it every time, though he felt like there was a quota he needed to meet and secretly failed in. 

"Hey," Armie greets him once he comes out of the office, standing up from the bench and walking up to him. "How do you feel?" 

Timothée, for all his instability, feels relieved to have Armie waiting for him and goes to embrace him right away. "Heavy," he nuzzles closer when Armie cradles the back of his head. "Exhausted."

Humming, Armie rubs soothing circles on his back with his other hand and holds him silently until he feels better enough to pull away on his own. 

"Still up to grab a bite?" Armie keeps a hand on his waist as they stand together. 

Timothée shakes his head. "Let's just go to the flat."

"Okay," Armie nods and smiles at him. "I'll cook some soup." 

Sometimes, Timothée thinks that it's how Armie tells him that he loves him. If true, then he'd truly been at it longer than Timothée could ever comprehend. 

They take a cab back to Pauline's flat since Armie isn't having it with straining him further. Timothée only chuckles and lets him fuss over him, especially since the time with Dr. Manoury was quite draining and he quite enjoyed getting coddled. Surprisingly, he's not overthinking anything yet, which only tells him that it might hit him later when he least expects it. Armie keeps glancing over at him during the ride, concerned and waiting for something, but Timothée opts to assure him with a smile and takes his hand in his. 

Like usual, Armie splits his time in France between Paris and Le Chambon-sur-Lignon to spend a few days with Timothée in the city while he still has classes then fly to the countryside for the weekend to spend it with Astrid. Most of his classes end past lunchtime, so he manages to squeeze in other things in his day. Armie updates him regularly about his move, like he's methodically getting Timothée used to it. He appreciates the effort, and has done some on himself so he can categorize it as a good thing instead of a commitment misstep. 

Although he hasn't been in it, Timothée knows that Armie has decided on the loft he talked about from before. It's a four bedroom, three bathroom property, furnished and in the heart of the city. Still, Armie ordered a few changes in the flat, which he said will take a couple of months at most. Timothée even sees pictures of it, and is in the process of decorating Astrid's room along with the two of them. It's only Armie who actually moves to get things done, but it works out. His company transfer is basically approved and good to go, and he's just in the process of reestablishing his network, so aside from spending his time with Timothée and Astrid, Armie also stops by the branch in Paris and Lyon where he'll be in charge. Just the sheer size already suggests that Armie has no intentions of living in it on his own, but he hasn't brought that conversation back up yet. 

"Chicken and mushroom soup?" Armie asks from the kitchen when they get back to the flat. 

Timothée went straight to the bedroom to fetch his laptop and walked to the kitchen table to set it down. "Sounds good," he tells Armie and comes up to him to peck on his lips. 

Armie smiles at the gesture and releases him so they can do their own things. "How do you find Dr. Manoury?" 

"She sort of reminds me of Dr. Howard, but just age her significantly." Timothée replies thoughtfully as he opens his laptop to work on his assignments. "Remember her?" 

"Yeah, where you got the new blockers from." Armie's back is on him as he prepares the soup, but his scent already communicates his wariness. 

"I think she's a good choice."

Armie turns, staring at him to gauge his expression. Timothée meets his eyes and holds his gaze. 

"I'm glad, but know that you can switch up anytime you feel like it's not a match for you." 

Honestly, Armie shouldn't be giving Timothée this much exit points, but then again it's always his kindness that gets through Timothée the best. It's nearly boundless and unending, and he has no idea how the universe thought it can casually drop this gift of a man on his lap, just like that. 

"Thank you," Timothée says with a smile, which Armie automatically returns. "And I love you." 

Instantly, the flat fills with Armie's sudden burst of joy and his face blushes with it. Timothée can't believe that he inspires this much wonder out of the alpha, despite him being problematic two-fifths of the time. 

Armie licks his lips nervously and bites it as if stopping himself from grinning too much. "I love you," he answers easily. 

Just to tease him, Timothée points to the chopping board and vegetables that Armie took out of the fridge to cut. He rolls his eyes, then washes his hands before walking right to Timothée's seat and kissing him soundly. Giggling, Timothée welcomes it and even opens his mouth to let their tongues slip in, then breaks them apart to once again gesture to the food. Armie pinches him lightly but goes anyway. 

While the soup cooks, Armie takes care of some of his work; making a bunch of phone calls and taking his own laptop out to sit across Timothée at the dining table. Sometimes, this is the most quality time they get to have when Armie would arrive in France on a weekday. Timothée absently notes how they haven't even had sex since Armie arrived two days ago, mostly due to his jetlag, and then Timothée was halfway to a breakdown the following night from a requirement that he thankfully will never have to think about ever again. 

"Trouble at work?" Timothée puts his chin on his hand, arm propped up on the table on his elbow. 

Armie looks up and shakes his head. "More on the tedious side," he assures, smiling slightly. "Also, paperworks for my move here." 

"How about the loft?" Timothée prompts, since they're already on the topic. 

Shrugging, Armie finishes typing something then leans back on his chair before replying. "Not much left to do aside from more paperworks, but at the same time a lot. One of the rooms I'm converting into an office and it's just starting last week." 

They're already in the middle of taking care of the dishes later that day when Pauline sends Timothée a text message, telling him that she'll be over a friend's place for the night for a birthday party. Timothée's eyes helplessly look over to Armie, who's taking the rest of it to put away after Timothée cleaned them. Once cleared, he comes up to Armie's space and starts nosing up his neck, smelling how quickly the alpha is getting on board with it. 

"Pauline?" Armie asks, though already half gone and getting hard in his pants. 

Timothée gives his lips a playful lick as Armie palms his ass. "Out for a party."

It's like a switch flipped from there. Armie gives his ass one last squeeze before lifting him off by the thighs, wrapping Timothée's legs around him as he hikes him up to cling on his hips. Timothée doesn't ever get tired of Armie manhandling him, especially with how rare they get to be frisky when they're around his family constantly. From the way Armie's eyes shine, it seems like he's thinking of the exact same thing. 

Once inside his bedroom, Timothée is practically tossed on his bed, Armie following by literally crawling over him and putting their mouths together. Timothée arches of the bed, taking his trousers off the breaking away so he can get his shirt off. Armie smirks before diving to his torso, licking and kissing on his chest then biting hard on his shoulder. Moaning, Timothée parts his legs wider and wraps them over Armie's hips, unbuttoning his shirt unsuccessfully. Armie takes pity on him and undresses himself, then peels off Timothée's boxers to go between his legs and rim him. 

Timothée feels comfortable enough to let himself make sound, another liberty that they almost never get, which Armie evidently appreciates as well. He hums while his mouth works his hole over, keeping a finger pressing on the perineum but not breaching in yet. Timothée gets slightly delirious from desperation. It's been weeks since they last had sex, which was also when they claimed each other again after it faded. The drive is naturally stronger, so Timothée rocks his hips against Armie's tongue, wanting more of it. 

The fingers do come, but not without Armie licking a long stripe from his hole to his balls, then sucks. Timothée shouts and sits up, surprised, then collapses again when Armie presses his fingers directly on his prostate and jabs on it. There hasn't been much, yet he already feels his legs shaking a bit. Dazed, Timothée puts a hand around his cock, stroking the length then squeezing the base; torn between his desire to come and extend the sensation. 

Armie makes the decision for him when his mouth leaves his balls and takes the head in, suckling lightly. Timothée's hand moves to his hair in response, breathing shakily as he watches Armie suck his dick while he feels fingers working him open. It'll be over for him pretty soon, he just  _ knows _ it. Armie keeps applying pressure on his spot while spearing his fingers in, then sucks him so hard that he can tell every centimeter that goes in and out when he bobs his head. 

"How do you want this to go?" Armie releases his cock momentarily but keeps his hands busy by pumping at the length while the other still plays with his hole. 

Kicking and squirming, Timothée grips the sheets then the headboard before he manages to tighten his entire body to keep still. Armie seems to have taken that as a challenge; intensifying the movements of his hands and putting his mouth back on his dick, making Timothée scream and fall back on the bed. It takes a few seconds for him to realize that he blacked out; Armie already on his face and peppering it with kisses. 

"Oh my fucking God," Timothée breathes out weakly, eyelids heavy as his body spasms from coming unexpectedly. "I thought you were  _ asking. _ " He grouses, already curling towards Armie to do as he pleases. 

Armie chuckles darkly in his ear, nipping lightly then opening his mouth with the two fingers and making him suck on it. "I missed you, is all." 

The whisper sends shivers down his spine and he whines high, his instincts telling him to offer his body to the alpha, to serve him and pleasure him, and honestly Timothée wishes Armie would just finally take before he loses his mind when they've hardly done anything yet. 

"Come," Armie puts his hands firmly on his waists, sitting him up and flipping them over. "Get on me, like this," he adds, slowly sinking Timothée on his dick, boneless and pliant. 

"Oh, yes," Timothée moans, nearly falling over with how fogged his brain is. 

Armie chuckles again, but obviously not feeling very generous when he snaps their hips together, jolting Timothée, then doing it again and again until it sinks in that this will be the pace they're going. Timothée is still whimpering and wailing when he puts their mouths together, letting out as much noise as he wants into the kiss when it breaks. His arms loosely wrapped around Armie's neck barely helps to keep him upright; all of his weight relying entirely on the alpha's hands on him for balance. He yelps and cries out at nearly every thrust, feeling the length of it so deep and all the way to his core that he slightly shakes from the stimulation. 

Wrapping one arm around his waist, Armie takes Timothée by the hair and pulls his head back, just as he braces his lower body to pound even harder, the kisses all over his neck and bites on his skin. Timothée doesn't register that he's clawing on Armie's back until he's groaning in his ear, then resumes nibbling on his skin. 

"Ready?" 

It takes a couple of seconds before Timothée realizes that Armie asked a question.  _ Ready for what?  _ He's nearly out of his mind and spasming on the alpha's lap, what more is there? Confused, Timothée tries to focus his gaze on Armie and tilts his head to the side. Instead of talking, Armie shifts them and angles his hips differently, this time in shallow, rapid thrusts that strike his spot every single time. Timothée hears himself keen out loud, kicking his legs so hard that he falls on his side. Armie follows him without missing a beat, lifting a leg over his shoulder so he's spread conveniently then resumes pounding into him that his toes curl. 

When Armie bends to cover his body with his own, Timothée notes the gradual loss of finesse in his thrusts. He arches his body towards the alpha, instinctively offering more of himself as Armie sucks bruises all over his skin and kisses on random spots of his face. Once the pounding gets frenzied and hurried, Timothée allows himself to lie limp on the mattress until Armie comes, spilling into him and growling so loudly that the rumble in his chest vibrates between them. 

"Hey," 

Timothée feels his body rocking slightly. He tries to ignore it but it becomes more insistent so he whines in protest. 

"Just look at me, hey, are you alright?" 

Belatedly, he realizes that it's not some usual occurrence for him to be so out of it during and after sex, so it must really be a concerning sight for Armie. It's hard to glare when he can hardly keep his eyes open but he still tries, holding Armie's gaze unhappily. 

"Quit your bitching." 

Armie laughs, assured that he's doing just fine if he can snark him. He moves to drop a kiss on his forehead, but Timothée grapples blindly in the air and clumsily pulls the alpha to his lips. Armie corrects the angle for them and they kiss lazily, putting off the clean up until he dozes off. 

Timothée wakes up to the smell of food cooking, disoriented after the brutal round that Armie put him through. No complaints, honestly. They haven't been alone together like this in a while. 

"Pasta for dinner? I got lazy." Armie tells him when he emerges from the bedroom, topless and wearing only a pair of sweatpants. He gives Timothée a once over when he sees him wearing only his shirt, unbuttoned shamelessly. "Hey there," 

Timothée snorts and wraps his arms around his waist from behind. "You beat the shit out of me."

"What? I thought that was foreplay?" 

Timothée blinks at him, dumbfounded. 

"How the fuck is your sex drive not aging?" 

A little while after their dinner, Armie slips his hands between his legs as they lounge on the couch, stroking his cock until it gets fully hard. This time, Timothée wants the upper hand, so he slides off his seat and kneels on the rug, parting Armie's legs and sucking him off. Armie eases himself further down the couch, getting comfortable and steadily stroking his hair as he swallows as much of the length into his mouth as he can. 

"You should knot me this time."

Armie doesn't let him go back down to blowing him. Picking him up, Timothée gets slung over his shoulder then to the bedroom. Timothée crawls on the mattress and presents, whining when Armie mounts him immediately and fucks him so hard he sees quick flashes behind his eyes when he shuts them.

When the knot pops, Armie bites on his shoulder and almost breaks the skin. Timothée didn't even need to get touched to come. They lay on their side after, spooning, almost purring as the knot empties itself inside; Armie kissing tenderly on his shoulder to his neck. 

By dawn, the bed is pretty much disgusting and soiled after the two rounds. Timothée shifts on his side so he can caress Armie's face, who's a light sleeper and stirs shortly after. Slowly, Armie’s eyes flutter open and focuses on him, kissing the fingertips tracing his bottom lip. 

“Good morning,” Timothée greets him softly, smiling back as they stare at each other. 

“Good morning,” Armie replies and lifts his own hand to touch his face. 

They come together for a kiss, which Timothée escalates quickly by kicking the covers off of their bodies and pulling Armie over him, spreading his legs and lifting his hips slightly. Armie gets on board quickly and lines himself to push inside, groaning shakily as he sinks to the hilt. Timothée giggles silently, then squirms when Armie pinches his flank for being a little shit. They go slowly and lazily, Armie’s muscles not fully awake to keep up with how on edge they feel with the morning boners. It’s lighthearted and easy, their hips grinding against each other to simply get themselves off. They don’t even try to be fancy about it as Armie just moves in and out and Timothée tilts his ass to hit his spot when he slides in. It’s enough, and he quickly feels himself pulling taut as his orgasm builds. Armie is close behind, and their mutual understanding of this leads them to chase the release until they spill, their entire bodies in tremors as they empty themselves. 

They peel the sheets afterwards and sanitize most of the apartment just to be sure. They've showered and prepared breakfast when Pauline returns, too hungover to even notice if there's still a bit of the stench lingering in the flat. 

They leave for Le Chambon-sur-Lignon before lunch, arriving in the afternoon just in time to match Astrid's high energy. Armie prepared a board game for her to hunt that week, which they played in the garden. It's unwise and the parts fly everywhere because of the wind, but at least they had fun. 

Armie takes them on a grocery run around sundown, which ends up with too many snacks for Astrid than actual food they eat. There's even a slight quiz between the two as they translate French to English since Astrid is really dedicated to having Armie learn their language. 

They were all preparing for bed when Astrid opened a whole new discussion for them. 

"Papa, can I do ballet?" Astrid asks as they tuck her in. 

Timothée and Armie exchange looks, but they're obviously not thinking of the same thing. While Armie looks more pleasantly surprised and interested, Timothée finds himself more worried about how that might take a toll on her, considering the training is notoriously hard. 

"What brought this on?" Timothée strokes her hair away from her face, golden and soft much like Armie's. 

Astrid looks between him and Armie, then scoots closer. "I want to try it. It's pretty." 

At least there's a start. Armie glances over at him, waiting for his response. 

Nodding, Timothée says "If you still want it when summer break comes, then we'll look into trying." 

"Really?" She asks excitedly. 

Timothée sighs and nods again. Armie chuckles and kisses her on the forehead. 

"Sleep for now, okay?" Armie caresses her face lovingly. "Ballerinas always get enough sleep."

Timothée pinches him, making him yelp. Astrid giggles at them but closes her eyes. They had a long day, but then she's always been an easy child. 

They walk back to their bedroom knowing a talk is coming. Armie opens the door for him as they go in, earning him a suspicious glare from Timothée. He's pulled into Armie's arms way before they can close the door, laughing goodnaturedly. 

"She's starting to have  _ hobbies,  _ oh dear." Armie speaks first, as they climb into the bed, snuggling right away. 

As opposed to Armie's lighthearted approach to it, Timothée considers the fact that they live too far from a studio, and if she gets serious about it, then that means she'll go through the rigorous training with both her parents in Paris. Financially, there isn't much of a problem. Armie literally acts like money grows from trees, which probably to him is even easier than that. 

"Hey, talk to me." Armie sits up against the headboard, watching him. 

Timothée goes up too, sighing. "Just thinking. I mean, not just this. Other things, in general. I feel like I'm going to miss out a lot." 

There's an uncharacteristic silence on Armie's part, which heightens Timothée's concern.

"You already know I'm getting the loft for the three of us." Armie pauses to take a deep breath, bracing himself. "And I know what we talked about. Sort stuff out first before moving in. She's only four, so I think she can still delay this for another year or two. So if she  _ will,  _ I'm suggesting to move her to the city like you planned before. Lyon or Paris."

It's true that it was Timothée's plan before, but a part of him feels disoriented that someone else is accomplishing it while he's practically stagnant due to university. 

"That's far down the road, we can still think about it. She can still change her mind." 

"Of course." 

The next visit to Dr. Manoury, Armie has already gone back to the U.S. It's not even nearly as easy as the first one, especially with how much Timothée resists the actual solutions to his issues. Mainly, it's how he's recoiling from accepting anything from Armie  _ again, _ which even to Dr. Manoury is strange, considering they are - well -  _ partners.  _ Dr. Manoury catches that, too. After all, how can you be unsure of the real score between you and an alpha you're in a mutual claim with, who's also the father of your daughter. 

"Mr. Chalamet," Dr. Manoury says sternly after he stubbornly rejects everything she says. "He's the father, and also your partner. Of course he will be involved. He would want to provide the best for the two of you since he's responsible for your well-being. Essentially, you're confining him to stand outside and look into your life through the window."

Timothée glowers at her, as if she's not getting his point when her response pins down the problem right away. "Not like this. There are other ways - just, something else!" 

"You're an early childhood education major. You know how crucial this stage is for your daughter. You seem to be holding yourself to impossible standards. Mr. Hammer is way more financially secured-"

"God, I don't want his money!" 

"Is that the issue here?" 

The way she says it freezes Timothée, as though he knows intuitively that she has things sorted out and is simply waiting to land the blow. 

"Is it pride, Mr. Chalamet? Do you feel like he's paying you again?" 

Timothée wants to run away from the session. 

That one was unproductive at best, although Timothée is willing to bet that Dr. Manoury got a lot of insight based on how much he's closing off and pulling away. Armie called that night after Astrid, but since he obviously possessed more emotional maturity, he didn't ask why Timothée had been in such a foul mood. There wasn't much out of that, but Armie made sure to casually drop the information that he kept in touch with Dr. Manoury. 

Timothée is still in the middle of his semester with loads of things to do. It gets his mind off of the counseling, which is a convenient thing for him at the same time that it's detrimental. Still, the things they've glazed over so far are weighing him down day by day. Timothée ponders over it at nearly every pause he makes; when the lectures end, when Astrid hangs up, when he tells Armie good night before bed. 

When the time comes, it's tempting to make up some excuse to skip the next session, but even Pauline knows of the schedule and watches over him. In truth, Timothée would choose any other thin than therapy, but nothing came up to make missing it feel valid. Logically, he's aware of how big of a disappointment it'll be if he runs away from it, so he sucks it up and goes. 

Dr. Manoury starts with asking him how he is, to which the honest would be that he's generally doing fine unless he has to address his issues. She tries to pick up where they left off two weeks ago, but Timothée calmly deflects them. Naturally, Dr. Manoury can catch on, but she opts to move to something else instead. 

"Mr. Hammer will be moving here in Paris permanently. Can you tell me how you feel about that?" 

Thankful. Glad. Relieved. Deep down, Timothée knows those are his feelings about it, but then he can't stop the crippling doubts sometimes. What if it becomes too much when they're together constantly? What if they're only better with breaks in between? 

"I think it's great that it's an option available for us. Many aren't as privileged." Timothée answers blandly, like it's an academic paper that he needs a word count for. 

Dr. Manoury nods passively. "I'm assuming you'll be moving in together?" 

Right, because the last time Timothée couldn't even put a label on their relationship. 

"We'll wait," he admits. "Maybe go through this counseling first."

"Do you feel like taking breaks from each other keeps things healthier?" Dr. Manoury asks gently, careful not to tick him off. 

"Obviously, I would say. I mean, it gives us time to cool down when we really got on each other's nerves. I think it's important."

"But when you finally cool down, do you address the issue, or it just stays untouched?" 

So the topic for today is his repression. This time, Timothée tries to justify why some things just need to be put off, why it doesn't work for them to dig things up because the dirt only goes around them and slowly buries them with it. Dr. Manoury tries to coax him against this belief, telling him that it's not measured by the amount of problems they're willing to talk about, but each tiny parts of it that they can solve easier. 

"There's no war to win all at once. It doesn't work that way. What you have are series of obstacles that you have to move past so you can move forward." 

Maybe guilt-tripping is the way to go. That night, Timothée calls Armie around midnight, making him talk about his day and the progress of his move. There's a pause where Armie tries to gauge the situation, but he doesn't linger on it for long and begins narrating his day. Timothée watches him through the screen of his phone, wishing he can touch the alpha and snuggle close. No matter how much things get twisted in his head, Timothée knows for sure that he's immensely grateful for having Armie as he is. 

"What's up?" Armie asks worriedly, staring at him intently until Timothée realizes that he looks absolutely devastated. 

Laughing at himself, he gives a dismissive wave then says "Nothing. It's just-" Timothée feels the burst of courage in his chest and takes advantage of it. "I'm sorry, for how I - well - I guess generally, with just how I am." 

Armie is apparently quite lost in the conversation. "What's bringing this on?" 

"This should've been brought up long ago." Timothée replies frustratedly. "I swear, you cut me too much slack." 

"I know."

"Huh?" 

Armie smiles kindly at him. "I know that you want this,  _ us. _ I know you're just dealing with bigger things, and I know a lot of those aren't mine to even poke my nose in. In your own time, okay?"

_ But what will you do about it?  _ There's no accusation or aggression in the way that Armie spoke, but the natural flow of things will always lead to that question. Apologies don't mean anything unless there's changed behavior that follows. Timothée can't trust himself to make that promise yet. 

"Can you tell me why you stayed?" Timothée asks quietly. 

“I’ve known right in the first week that I saw you again that it’ll be difficult to get back in your life, given the circumstances. Or if you'd even let me, but I already knew it's all I want. And then I found out about Astrid, and I never once thought of why it  _ can’t _ be.” Armie meets his eyes, unwavering. “I came up with a thousand ways of how I could make it work and I knew none of it was easy. I’m not walking blindsided and naive.”

Appealing to Timothée's guilt really seem to do the trick. His tears are pooling in his eyes, but so do the words that he needs now hanging on the tip of his tongue. 

"I feel too vulnerable. Like the moment shit hits the fan I would have to pull another one of that disappearing act I did five years ago where I literally threw my life upside down just to cope with the fact that I'd have to live without you." Timothée presses his eyes shut but doesn't hide away from Armie. "Except that now, I'm aware that there's much more at stake."

Armie shushes gently and waits for him to feel calmer before speaking. "If there's one thing I would wish you'd take my word for it's this: There's nothing I wouldn't be willing to work on." 

"I love you, Armie, I  _ really  _ do." Timothée feels desperate to get it across. "And I hate that I'm literally what's getting in our way but I'll try harder, I swear-" 

Armie is fully alarmed by then, realizing that Timothée is on his way to breaking down and begins to calm him. He whispers soothingly and gives endless affirmations, coaxing Timothée to calm down slowly until Pauline comes in; phone in hand. Some time later after calming down, Timothée realizes that Armie must've told her to go to him since he couldn't at that time. 

_ I'll see you next week, alright? I love you.  _ Armie messages him that night, still assuring and concerned. 

The following week couldn't come faster. 

University took up most of his time since. Timothée has papers due and projects to complete. For someone who's taking his first bachelor's in his mid-twenties, Timothée will say he's pretty surprised to find that about a third of the population in his program are in the same age bracket, though the difference is that it's their second degree. Still, they all instinctively stick together. What that results in is a perfect, unattached, non-dramatic college life for Timothée. They only want two things: to get work done, and to have nothing to do with anyone. It's good that his only source of stress is his studies in that part of his life. God knows the rest of it is in danger of tipping every other day. 

Armie flies in on a Friday morning, his flight directly to Lyon so he can register another residence there. Timothée's class ends after lunch, and out of impulse boards the flight that afternoon to meet Armie. The ridiculous splurge seems to be worth it when Armie nearly forgets all his business when he sees Timothée on the sidewalk just before dinner time, messaging throughout the day so he got the alpha monitored and pulled off the surprise. 

"So, it's you." Armie almost crushes him in his embrace, giddy and elated. 

Timothée gestures apologetically to the agents that Armie unthinkingly abandoned, then returns his hug enthusiastically. 

"Yup, your favorite." 

Armie releases him and steps aside, putting his hand on the small of his back but sneakily squeezes his ass first. "Yup."

Despite being aware that Armie has more or less gotten himself a place in La Part-Dieu, he didn't expect it to be ready to be occupied literally right off the bat. It's where Armie brings him that night after taking him to dinner; a snug, two-bedroom flat with warmer tones and cozy atmosphere. Armie explains that he got the help of a contact in their branch in the district, which made the process a lot easier. It's fully furnished like the loft in Paris, but he naturally modifications will still be made when he actually starts to live there. 

Timothée is putting his bag down and peeling his jacket off when he feels Armie creeping from behind, his arms wrapping around his torso as his mouth descends on his neck, kissing up to his jaw as his hands roam on his body. 

Moaning, Timothée closes his eyes and allows Armie to take the reins. He brings them to the bedroom, their clothes carelessly dropped on their way. Gently, Armie lays him down on the mattress and essentially worshipped him until he's squirming and begging. Armie complies, giving him a passionate kiss as he slides himself inside, relishing every push and pull. Timothée jerks himself off lazily as Armie thrusts, then feels his hand wrap around his own to help him get off. He whines and angles his hips, taking them both to their release and they come just moments after the other, panting heavily as they collapse on the bed and cuddle until they wake the next day. 

They manage two more rounds before they leave for Le Chambon-sur-Lignon, one right when they wake up and the other in the shower as they prepare for their day. Astrid is still very much holding them on their promise on letting her try ballet, which she even practices at home, according to Élodie. It's terrifying, to say the least, especially since she's attempting stunts that she definitely shouldn't be doing. 

"Daddy, help me jump!" Astrid runs over to Armie and stretches her hands outwards, waiting to be picked up. 

It's an awkward size to be in, since Astrid only comes up to Armie's thigh. Still, he makes it work, because when you have a daughter one of the proven ways to raise her to let her know that she's an absolute princess. 

Nicole nudges him with her elbow as they tend to the garden.  _ "Ballet is really on the table?"  _

_ "Well, if she maintains her fixation until her summer break, then we'd let her try it."  _ Timothée replies, taking the nipped stems and keeping them in a pile. 

_ "Yours had been singing."  _

_ "Oh my God, mom. I'm so sorry you had to live through that."  _

Nicole laughs at him, shaking her head.  _ "Pauline, on the other hand - my, what a nerd - she liked math right away."  _

_ "See, this is why I'm the attractive child. Pauline just isn't much competition."  _ Timothée retorts smartly, making his mom laugh again. 

_ "You, silly. Don't badmouth your sister because she's not here."  _ Nicole is far too amused by the banter to be taken seriously.  _ "But going back, since Armie will be moving here in France, are you all…"  _ She trails off, finishing the question with a curious gaze instead. 

Sighing, Timothée says  _ "Armie and I are going through some counseling, so we'll work through that first. Maybe after this academic year? But yeah, you get it."  _

Nicole puts the shears down and removes her gloves. Walking close to him, she puts a hand on his arm, grounding.  _ "Okay,"  _ she mumbles, moving her hand to ruffle his hair.  _ "You do know you can talk to me as well, right? You've carried so much these past years since Marc passed, you and your sister." _

Timothée smiles at his mother and steps closer to hug her, offering the two of them comfort from the touch. 

_ "Of course, mom."  _ He says, although it's not likely.  _ "We're alright now." _

They return to Dr. Manoury a day before Armie leaves for the U.S. It's still a separate one, which at this point even Dr. Manoury agrees to be the better option. Timothée is more reasonable during this visit, allowing her to take them a step back and take a look at what they have so far. 

Dr. Manoury tries to help him work on what's happening now. Armie's move is fast approaching, and when he finally settles in France stalling is no longer an option for Timothée. It would be outright neglect. The conversation revolves around it, but the way that he refrains from opening up confines them to going on circles about it rather than arriving at a proper comprehension. When the resistance appears to be too strong, Dr. Manoury shifts to a more casual approach and just asks him about his week. Timothée relays all the significant events that he can recall. 

"You don't have much problem with talking about your experiences and calling them what they are." Dr. Manoury points out approvingly. "Like I said, it's your responses that bring tension."

Timothée takes a deep breath, recalling the late night FaceTime he had with Armie nearly two weeks ago. The moment of vulnerability drove the words out of his system, but they were the truth. 

"I can't afford to mess up, not now, when I've only started to get back on my feet after I uprooted my life to move back with my family five years ago." He blows out his exhale loudly, trying to keep his emotions from boiling over. "I'm struggling, because I want to get every single thing done correctly, and I keep getting this feeling that Armie acts recklessly, like he moves too fast without considering the things that I do every second or every day."

Dr. Manoury nods in understanding, offering him a sympathetic smile before she responds. "Mr. Hammer did not inform you of this move, correct? You only found out through your sister, who was told by your daughter." 

Timothée confirms it with a nod but doesn't add anything. 

"If he had discussed this first with you, how would you imagine yourself to react?" 

Stunned, but happy. Skeptical, but grateful. Timothée hasn't considered that before, even when half the time it's what he's pointing out. He'd been too occupied by the sting of getting blindsided on something as massive as a move to another  _ continent.  _

Right after he goes over that in his head, Timothée winces. That's  _ rich,  _ coming from him. 

"Would the reaction be largely positive?" Dr. Manoury inquires, gentle and considerate. 

Resigned, Timothée nods with a sigh. 

"So if he broke the news to you first, this entire thing would go totally different?" 

Somehow, Timothée doubts that. He shakes his head, but Dr. Manoury doesn't continue. She waits for him to verbalize his reason with a considerate gaze.. 

"I mean, maybe not as bad, but I know I would still have reservations about it." Timothée explains. "We started off messed up, and it just got worse from there."

"You don't seem to trust Armie's judgment very much." Dr. Manoury notes, curious. 

Timothée huffs. "Everything is so  _ easy  _ for him. Literally. Like, daughter? Alright. Living in France? Alright. He just - snap, snap - make it happen. But  _ no,  _ it's not just like that. There's a bigger picture here." 

When Dr. Manoury puts her clipboard down and leans a little forward, Timothée instinctively braces himself. 

"Which is?" 

"Our daughter! My life! You can't just barge in and make yourself comfortable." 

Dr. Manoury holds his gaze then begins to break down the situation. "Mr. Hammer is willing to follow you where you are, compromise to the conditions you set, follow the pace you want. From what it looks like, he's making things easy for  _ you.  _ He puts himself conveniently within your reach to let you decide on the steps that follow. If he were to ask you, point-blank, what you want, what will be the answer?"

Surprisingly, Timothée doesn't have a problem with admitting that one. "I want to be with him."

_ But it's not that simple. But we have so much baggage. But there's so much at stake.  _ Timothée knows he doesn't need to say any of it when it's clear that Dr. Manoury picks up on them anyway. 

"Then why do you keep sabotaging your own happiness?" 

After that session, Armie nearly doesn't want to leave from how much it weighed him down. He even suggested to put it off for the time being, especially if it will ever hinder him from performing normally in his academics. Timothée is rendered nearly nonverbal for the rest of the day, pretending to be behind on his studies and burying himself in tasks. As always, Armie lets him cope however he needs to, but keeps an eye on him all the same, making sure he eats his meals and drinks enough until evening. Pauline realizes what's happening the moment she gets home, but chooses to act normally so as to not tip Timothée further. He appreciates that and tries to smile at her, then retires to bed early. 

Armie joins him around ten, slipping in on his side of the bed wordlessly. Timothée lay there for hours, asking himself  _ why  _ over and over until he exhausted himself to numbness. Once he feels Armie settle, he turns to face him and scoots close. Armie tentatively puts his arms around him, hugging him to his chest when it's not met with protest. Soon after, Timothée is crying silently. Armie doesn't ask, nor does he try to make him talk about. 

"It'll be alright, I promise." Armie whispers to him repeatedly. 

The next day, Armie flies back to the States, and Timothée begins putting his life back on track. The counseling isn't even halfway through, since they're not even doing it together yet, and he feels as though the wounds aren't just reopened; they're deeper and bigger now. Timothée walks around with a heavy heart, but still maintains his usual functionality. It's apparent enough that some of his regular partners in class said a thing or two about him having a 'rough couple of weeks' but it's Pauline that really breaks him a little more. 

The way she handles him these days reminds him of the first few months that he'd been back; pregnant, unemployed, sick. She brings home food she knows he enjoys. Their mom does not pry him obviously as a result of Pauline briefing her of his state. Their grandmother still either in a state of ignorance or unflinchingly honest commentaries. When Armie calls him late at night, it's evident that he's itching to ask but thinks the better of it. Timothée feels like he's going crazy. At least Astrid is there, talking to him about drawing butterflies and learning a new song at the nursery school. That's the most reality break he gets before he has to get back up and face the world again. 

Dr. Manoury can't seem to hide her delighted surprise that despite how hard he's taking their sessions, he doesn't skip them. Timothée gives her a curt smile, then sits down on the couch. Kindly, Dr. Manoury wants them to work on coping mechanisms in between counseling, so as he can bounce back after episodes with minimal effects on his life at large. Timothée likes that. He half expects it to be grand gestures like meditation and exercise, but Dr. Manoury only asks him about simple things that help him relax; talking to Astrid, drinking tea, reading, taking a walk, the smell of fresh bread in the morning. Her advice is to integrate these little positive things in his day to be constant reminders of the good in his life. 

"Dr. Manoury?" 

"Yes?" 

"I'm just scared. Of everything. Anything. Mostly of myself. I'm destructive."

They don't get further than that. Dr. Manoury lets him off and sets that information aside for another time. Timothée can tell that she has a good read on him by now. 

The first few times he tried to integrate the things he associated with relaxation, it felt forced. They're like added chores to his daily routine, which is the exact opposite of what they're going for. The sessions still weigh him down, which in Pauline's honest opinion could mean that it's working. In a way, she believes that he's actually dealing with it. She even starts to add in 'subtly' the things she knows Timothée likes, such as the berries he enjoys on his pancakes and waffles, or another fluffy, cozy blanket for when he reads. Armie is always a quick study and sees the efforts that Timothée puts in, though he's still pretty much walking on eggshells. Surprisingly enough, Astrid is still obsessed with ballet and is now on a permanent top bun phase. Nicole is on board with that because her hair gets everywhere, though their grandma vocally prefers to see it down.

To consciously work to get better makes Timothée want to vomit and cry, but he forces it out everyday. More than anything, he feels most motivated when he sees how much his efforts touch his family. It made him realize how long they've bitten their tongue, letting him curl in his shell as he recovers from built up of shock since he was seventeen. It's not perfect, but he follows everything even if it absolutely pains him to even bring it to the surface. 

"When can we start going together?" Timothée asks Armie in a call, pretending to be busy with his term paper. 

"I'm nearly done with my move, so we can get that going around next month." Armie replies. 

"My term ends soon." Timothée points out. 

Armie nods in acknowledgement. "We go every two weeks. You alright with flying every now and then? We can bring Astrid. The flat is pretty much done. I'm just waiting for a couple of things for her room." 

At the back of his mind, Timothée wonders what Armie would do if he turns it down. He doesn't though, since it's unnecessary. Besides, he did want to move Astrid to either Paris or Lyon at some point, and she'd be in primary school soon, too. It could be good. 

"Yeah, of course. Let's do that." Timothée agrees, giving him a smile. "So you're not staying over Pauline's anymore next week?" 

The question does sound quite like a trap, so he can't really blame Armie for tensing. Timothée glares lightly at him, and he gives a sheepish grin before answering. 

"No, not likely." 

"You're not asking me to come with?" 

Armie's face lights up, but he tries to bite back his smile.

"Yeah? Why don't you?" 

By the time Armie arrives, Timothée is still confined in his university as his semester closes. Armie surprises him late in the afternoon, which they spent going on a date. They grab coffee first and go around hand in hand, nearly freezing but Timothée enjoys the look in Armie's eyes when he brings him around and tells him about his memories in the campus. 

They go to dinner around six. Armie remembers a lot of Timothée's preferences, so they go to one of his preferred places that he treats himself to when he can spare it. Afterwards, Armie wants to swing by the home depot to pick up a few things for the loft. Armie goes for organizers right away, and then a bunch of baby-proofing products that Timothée never thought exist. There’s also anti-slip mats and indoor planters since Armie apparently wants to grow some herbs. It’s a quick trip like he said , but Timothée still feels like he learned so much about Armie in that short time. 

For starters, Armie actually likes gardening. Timothée can vaguely recall him giving his insights when Nicole was just starting her gardening hobby, but that was more than five years ago and they didn’t keep up a conversation because they always end up fighting. Armie also has keen awareness of color-coordination, which is weirdly unexpected. Timothée is half-expecting him to just get whatever works, since that’s the most impression guys leave on him in the very limited experience he has. Instead, he takes time to choose the colors and textures so nothing sticks out like a sore thumb. Finally, Timothée knows that Armie is tidy, but not the extent that he goes to stay organized. His organizing baskets have dividers, and in the dividers are clips to keep the things from cluttering the space. He has labels for everything, which also means that his stuff is arranged categorically.

"This is nice." Timothée says when they get to the loft. 

Nice doesn't cover it. The place is stunning. It's spacious and well lit from the massive windows, so polished and coordinated but comfortable. It's as much of a family place that one could make in the heart of Paris, and Timothée doesn't have the words to describe how much the thought pinches his heart. 

"So you like it?" Armie walks up to him where he stands in front of the fireplace and wraps his arms around him. 

Timothée cranes his neck sideways so Armie can fit his chin on his collarbone. "Yes," he answers, then glances to the massive couch. 

"I'm glad." Armie says with a sigh, then says "We should invite Pauline over" at the same time that Timothée says "Let's have sex on your couch." 

Armie straightens up and looks at him, amused, and Timothée purses his lips then makes a noncommittal shrug. 

"As long as we both agree." Armie quips. 

"True." 

So they did have sex on Armie's very new, very expensive couch, with Timothée straddling him and bouncing himself on his lap. They made a quick clean up and ordered a snack, practically naked until they finish then went to the bathroom. The en suite is massive, which was perfect because Timothée got railed pretty hard in the shower. Armie stirred around dawn and went to the bathroom, making Timothée huff. When he returned, Armie was tugged hurriedly to the bed, which despite their overly sleepy state still escalated until Timothée found himself whimpering into the pillow, his hips up in the air. They barely stopped since Armie felt weirdly energetic, going for another, then claimed each other just when the day breaks. 

When Pauline comes over that morning and sees the slight limp when Timothée walks, she snorts and nods haughtily at Armie. 

"Welcome to Paris."

They still go separately inside Dr. Manoury's office, Armie going in first and done pretty easily since he's overall just more put together. Before going in, he takes Timothée's face and gives him a brief kiss. 

Dr. Manoury seems nearly as glad as his entire family when he tells her about his weeks and how he just tries every single day. Willingness to move forward is important, and so far Timothée has that covered. She brings up the fact that Armie will be moving to France permanently by next month. Timothée informs her of his semester ending but they'll go to the city every two weeks, likely with Astrid in tow to get her used to it. If Dr. Manoury has anything to say about their parenting, she must be saving it for later. 

"I'm also thinking, like, when can we go together?" Timothée hopefully asks. 

"If you think you're ready." Dr. Manoury answers. 

Timothée expected her to be more straightforward about it. "What do you mean?" 

"Mr. Chalamet, I will ask you a series of questions, which I want you to respond to with full honesty. Afterwards, I'll show you Mr. Hammer's responses to the same questions."

Sounds ominous. 

"Hit me." 

Dr. Manoury smiles, liking his energy. "What convinced you to go here?" 

Well, that's easy. "I know we need some serious help if we want to make it work. And I want to. I want to be with him. And we have Astrid. We have to be better." 

Dr. Manoury holds out her clipboard where she noted Armie's response, letting Timothée read it. 

_ I always hoped to meet him again, all this time. When I did, I knew I wanted to be with him then more than I did five years ago, but we have quite a history. We have to heal from that before jumping back in, especially since we have a daughter.  _

Timothée knows this much about them, but it still stirs his guts. Dr. Manoury courteously waits for him to nod before asking again. 

"Coming in here, what are the things you're aiming to work on?" 

"Communication, I think? I shut him out pretty often, and I don't really say why because I never liked looking into myself. I lash out, too. Frequently. I can't keep track of what ticks me off anymore. Honestly, he's good. More than I deserve. Practically the only reason why we're still together, if I'm being honest." Timothée knows he didn't manage to cover everything, but those are the key points he can identify. 

Again, Dr. Manoury shows him Armie's answer.

_ I had a headstart into this thing so it's unfair to compare. From personal experience, I can really say how much it helped me to get through that, and I blame myself that he hasn't moved past a lot of the things that I already learned to make peace with. I want him to talk to me but I'm also aware that it's not easy. Like I said, I've been there, but I'm also scared. I can't figure out how to stay by his side when he doesn't feel like keeping me around. _

This time, it felt like a punch to his gut. Timothée swallows and turns his head away, blinking back his tears. 

"Break?" Dr. Manoury offers. 

Timothée takes deep breaths then shakes his head. The lump in his throat makes it feel too tight for speech, so he just gestures at her to continue. 

"What are you expecting out of this?" 

"To be-" Timothée clears his throat when his voice comes out too raspy. "To be a healthy partner. Because I know I want him. I  _ love _ him. And I wouldn't have any other person, but I'm the  _ worst.  _ It's like I need the very worst case scenario right in front of me so I could get threatened to act maturely. But I hate that, and I hate myself every time I do it, but it's all I know. I just want to be someone he deserves. I don't want to carry this anymore."

_ I want us to come out with functional coping strategies. Our history isn't something that'll ever go away, or resolve itself. It's us who need to face it and deal with them one by one. I understand him, and I don't want him to keep going on extremes and I worry. He has so many bad things to say about himself and I wish he sees what I see. Then again, you know he's a little impatient - right? - so yeah. 'Trust the process' even if it sounds annoying and cliché. Overall a healthy relationship.  _

Dr. Manoury doesn't leave him to dwell on his thoughts running on overdrive. "We can go on and on with these questions, and I'm pretty sure the conclusion won't change. The two of you want the exact, same things. Every single time. You nearly come up with identical intentions, no matter how the two of you choose your words."

"Can I let him in?" Timothée waves to the door, eager to have Armie with them inside the office. 

"Hopefully more than just in this office."

Timothée huffs, then goes to the door and swings it. Armie whips around in surprise, then reels back to the wall of the hallway when Timothée throws himself at him. 

"We'll be okay. I know it." 

Armie breathes out, relieved. He always understood Timothée perfectly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to add one more chapter, but I'll have to let everyone know that it'll come slower than usual since we're moving to another house while we increase security in this one. Anyway, stay safe everyone! Lock your doors, put the curtains down. It's a dangerous world out there.
> 
> P.S pls make the grammatical corrections in your head for the time being i didnt get to proofread this thoroughly akjdjsbsjs


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. This chapter literally escaped my grasp and now we have a 13k word chapter. I tried to proofread this, I promise. I'll do it again later sorry :<

Armie settled in Paris a month later. The term in the university would open again in a couple of weeks. In that time span, Timothée had gone to Paris on his own twice to continue his sessions with Dr. Manoury. Both had positive outcomes, and he was steadily opening himself up more and more. At the same time, this meant that a lot of his unspoken frustrations will be brought to the surface. Armie would have to deal with the brunt of that when he finally moved and they started the sessions together, but Dr. Manoury assured him before he could overthink it. 

As advised, Timothée wrote down the things that bother him in phrases that Dr. Manoury assisted him to form word for word. It became a weird checklist of sorts that he has to bring up to Armie whenever he has the courage to. Some nights were more productive than others, others just downright a mess, but they managed anyway. One other strain that unexpectedly popped up around the last two weeks before Armie officially moved would be the incessant amount of parties his colleagues threw for him. They were, of course, just fine. Timothée was just ill prepared for the amount of names he wasn't aware of. It brought up the topic of flying to the United States, which Armie immediately looked alarmed by. It was irritating and sent off Timothée, but they smoothed it out eventually. 

Pauline had no business looking so reluctant to part with him, despite him living off of her for the most part and literally existing in her space thus limiting her privacy. It might just be lingering instincts, given their living situation for so long, so Timothée indulged her when she felt clingy. Following this, Timothée also brought up to their mom and grandmother that they'll likely move Astrid to Paris with them once she starts in primary school. Naturally, their grandma was saddened by this, but Nicole assured them that it'll pass. 

_ "Sweetie, come here,"  _ Timothée called one night as he lounged on the fireplace. 

Astrid looked back at him, on her way to grab some dried fruits.  _ "Yes, papa?"  _

Smiling, Timothée gestured to her to get the bag before walking over. Astrid curiously blinked at him but easily complied. They huddled together on the armchair, Astrid on his lap as Timothée put his mug away. 

_ "Do you like Paris?"  _ He asked, somewhat nervous about talking to his own daughter. 

Astrid answered with a mouth half filled with dried berries.  _ "Yes, papa!"  _ She answered cheerfully, then went on about all the things she loved like the sheer amount of stores, and food and street performances. 

Timothée had very little doubt about his daughter's ability to adapt in the city. In fact, he thought she might even thrive in it, given how extroverted she was. 

_ "Well, you know that daddy is moving here right?"  _

_ "Yes! But you two will be away because adults need to go out a lot." _

Timothée felt himself crack a bit, remorseful that Astrid had to normalize being away from her parents because of their situation.  _ "Well, when you enter primary school, daddy and I want to move us to Paris so we can all be together." _

The way Astrid lit up already gave the answer.  _ "Really?"  _ Her face shifted all of a sudden.  _ "But papa! My friends!"  _

Astrid went on to name her classmates and neighbors that had been part of her life and who she felt reluctant to leave. Timothée smiled and shushed her gently, assuring her that it's still far down the road. There's also a likelihood that she hasn't considered the fact that grandma, Nicole and Élodie will not move with them. The discussion can wait, since Timothée himself hasn't gone through the motions of Armie moving to France. In reality, his resolve had been pretty solid. 

When the time came and they're waiting for Armie in the airport, Timothée knew for a fact that in his heart it's this or nothing. All the years they spent apart and all the months that they used to navigate their way back to each other boil down to this and he will never stand in their way again, on God, because Timothée had already bled them dry and he's not looking to try his luck. Astrid was jumping on his side, trying her hardest to see Armie through the crowd of people arriving. With Armie's stature, he's pretty hard to miss, but it also meant that he spotted them first. Before Timothée could process it, Armie was already crowding in his space, two luggage and a duffel in tow. 

Astrid recovered faster than him, climbing Armie and giggling as she got carried effortlessly. Timothée felt his core in turmoil and belatedly identified it to be butterflies in his stomach only when Armie pulled him in an embrace, breathing into his hair and humming contentedly. 

"No going back now," Armie quipped at him in a hushed tone, stealing a peck on his temple. 

Timothée glanced up to him and hugged him tighter around the middle. "I won't even dream of it." 

The first time Astrid saw the apartment, she was absolutely floored. Though it's far from a preppy dollhouse, it's still undeniably polished and gorgeous with a breathtaking view of the city. She immediately ran around to check every inch of the space; bouncing on the couch, looking out the window, pulling the drawers open. Timothée's chest tightened as tears stung his eyes, turning to Armie and snuggling into him. 

"Overwhelmed?" He asked, stroking his hair. 

"I never thought-" Timothée got choked up, but the way Armie smiled at him already said that he was understood. 

Armie hummed, embracing him while he watched Astrid over his head. "We've come so far," he mumbled, equally astonished. "I'm so thankful for the two of you." 

It's all backwards. Timothée was the one who should be on his knees and thanking fate for dropping this to his lap after all the times that he messed up. He squirmed away, looking up at Armie, but the alpha wasn't having any of his protest. With an insistent shake of his head, Armie took his face into his hands and kissed him deeply. 

Eventually, Astrid had to go back to Le Chambon-sur-Lignon, but her room in the flat heavily swayed her to moving to the city. They had a full week together, which brought Timothée equal parts of joy and tears. They were coming together as a family, something he couldn't even dare to hope for a year ago. But then, there they were, shopping for sheets and blankets, going to the grocery, stocking the pantry, playing together on the couch. Timothée was ready to just forget about moving in gradually, but Armie would always be the one who retained his good sense in the relationship and reminded him to trust that process. 

There's another week before Timothée has to return to university. During this time, he'd split up his clothes and brought half of it over Armie's, which were mostly comfortable baggy clothes that won't see the outside world at all. The logic was flawless, if you'd ask them both, since their time together in the flat clearly never called for them to leave it. During the day, they would mostly be up their own business; Timothée on his enrollment and papers, Armie on his work and meetings. Naturally, Timothée would get more time to bum around, which he took full advantage of. 

One morning, Timothée zipped Armie back up as he stood up from kneeling on the floor, swallowing the load after blowing the alpha right in the nick of time before he left for work. 

"You know, we haven't really gotten around to kinks." Timothée mentioned, giving Armie a once over. 

Armie barely recovered from his orgasm as he blinked at Timothée. "It's on." 

That night, Armie returns to the flat with ropes, since they're the easiest to get on such quick notice. Timothée sinks to his knees in the middle of the bedroom right at the moment that he sees it coiled around Armie's fist, making him smirk. He walks up to where Timothée is kneeling and takes his chin into his hand, gripping tightly on each side of his jaw and forcing him to look up. 

"Good boy." 

Armie doesn't go all out right away, because he's innately considerate like that. Now that Timothée has better control over his responses, he doesn't take it as an offense. He's even thankful that Armie speaks to him every step of the way, peeling his clothes off piece by piece, touching his body, asking permission to tie his wrist together to the headboard. The edging is dearly missed, Timothée would have to say as he is in tears every time Armie would withdraw his hands playing with his hole and jerking him off. They've only started, and he's already covered in bite marks and scratches. It's incredible. 

When Armie finally puts his cock inside, Timothée helplessly yelps and arches off the bed. Maddeningly enough, Armie takes the base of his dick and squeezes, stopping his orgasm, making him kick around. Armie is unrelenting and fixes his hips on the bed before pounding steadily, alternating from gripping Timothée and pumping the length of his cock. It drives him crazy, his hole clenching around Armie as he fidgets and whimpers. It's great to have this again, even greater when they realize that they haven't lost this insane connection. 

They're on the same thought as they approach their release, Armie bending over to press their foreheads together while his hand wraps around Timothée's nape, the other reaching between them to work his dick along the thrusts. When Armie comes, he slips his knot in and locks them together, bringing Timothée with him as he spurts between them. The firm squeeze around his neck does it completely that Timothée feels his eyes roll to the back of his head, his vision getting black spots when he blinked to keep himself conscious. 

"Did I live up to it?" Armie asks smugly, arranging them together on the bed after he's untied so Timothée could lay on his chest while they wait for the knot to come down. 

"I don't know, I think we should try toys next time to know for sure." 

"Oh, we  _ totally  _ should." 

At dawn, Armie wakes him up by grinding insistently against his ass. Timothée rises up to it and climbs on top of Armie, sitting down on him and slamming himself until they both get off and fall right back to sleep. 

Armie had always been an appreciative and generous lover, so he wakes up Timothée with breakfast in bed. It's definitely sweet and they make out while they eat, Armie sitting him on his lap and cuddling him. 

"I love this." Timothée tells him, turning his head and kissing along Armie's jaw. "I love you." 

The loud thump of Armie's heart sends the beat over to Timothée's back, making him chuckle. Armie nuzzles to him sheepishly, breathing into his neck. 

"I love you, too." Armie whispers to him. "So much."

They showered together after their meal, kissing under the warm spray and groping until they both got riled up. Interestingly, they made it out of the bathroom before they fuck, which ended up with Timothée standing facing the mirror while Armie pounded him from behind, fingers hooked in his mouth while his other hand wrapped around his neck and telling him how good he looked. 

Basically, their days pass them by as they reconnect on their sexual relationship, returning to their frenzied rush to touch. The toys did come, but nothing over the top since they couldn't possibly use them all given the time they had. Pauline didn't even bother with him  _ once,  _ quipping later on when he showed up in her flat that she never would've dared, knowing that there's a huge chance that she'd see Armie naked, which she wouldn't be able to live with considering they work in the same field. 

The calls with Astrid were scheduled meticulously because neither of them were taking any chances, but there had been a few close ones. Obviously, Nicole could tell, but she just held back her teasing smiles and got on to chat casually. 

Timothée only emerged out of Armie's loft on the first day of his classes, which he was ten minutes late for, wearing Armie's shirt paired with the only pants that somehow strayed there but Timothée was thankful for. Since it was ridiculously big on him, his skin would show when he removed his coat, and the sight of his hickeys along with the obvious wrong fit of the shirt already told everyone what he'd been up to lately. It was fine, he's claimed anyway. No one can really talk. 

The visits to Dr. Manoury had been consistently progressive, despite the fact that they've slowly calmed down from the high of the move. They're still down on a healthier path in their relationship, although with the usual setbacks but overall nothing to worry about. They still argue from little things about each other to their parenting styles, but still on a 'normal' scale, as Dr. Manoury put it, since those were natural and common. 

Even if Timothée had the urges to lash out sometimes when both his academics and family obligations got to him, he'd recognize the emotions bubbling on the surface and would get a hold of them before he could do something he'd hate himself for later on. It was always met with the proudest glint in Armie's eyes, praising him endlessly when Timothée would take control of the situation and actively steer it away from a blow out fight. 

Before, Timothée thought that the power in their relationship came from who could hurt the other more. He can recall one too many instances when he'd purposefully do something to inflict pain to Armie, or manipulate the situation so he could take the upper hand. They're now on a mutual, profound understanding of each other, and it's much, much more fulfilling than those had ever been. It was all a product of his insecurity in their relationship, of constantly needing to know that if they're breaking down it would always be on  _ his  _ terms. Timothée understood that now, and he's in a constant battle against the ghost of those thoughts.

"You know why it's coming along so well for you?" Dr. Manoury once asked, looking at him expectantly. 

Timothée's first thought was the fact that they'd been in therapy for  _ months,  _ it'd be terrible for business if it hadn't worked at all. He opted against answering though, reading the mood and recognizing the knowing looks on her and Armie's eyes. 

"You're no longer  _ functioning  _ for others. You don't just get up for your classes and stay alive for your daughter." Dr. Manoury told him, smiling. "You're doing it for  _ you,  _ not simply out of your own free will, but because you  _ want  _ to. That made all the difference." 

Timothée understood what she meant and immediately saw the perspective that she was coming from. That night, he was supposed to go back to Pauline's flat and hopefully finish an assignment. He put it off for the time being and went back to Armie's loft instead, clinging to him as they walked and jumping to his arms once they're inside.

"Tell me what you need," Armie hikes him up on his hips, holding firmly under his thighs as he brings them to the bedroom. 

Timothée rakes his fingers through Armie's hair, kissing his forehead, his nose then his lips. "You, just you." 

Armie lays him down and takes all his clothes off, indulging Timothée as he watches and kissing him before he does the same. He always seems to have the knack of knowing, which is good because Timothée can't be verbal now even if he tries. There's reverence in the way that Armie presses his lips on his skin, his fingers trailing across the expanse of his body with bold adoration that made Timothée shy away. Insistent, Armie would capture his mouth and pin him in place with gentle movements of lips against his. 

The message was clear every single time that they'd go on the pace like this. It's still overwhelming and terrifying, but Armie was relentless in helping Timothée accept all the love that he has to offer. When Armie finally pushes inside, Timothée whimpers and pulls him in an embrace, moving their bodies together with slow rolls of their hips. The rhythm is off and the sensations are hit or miss, but in exchange they get the mindblowing intimacy of holding each other so tenderly that they can't tell the beginning and ending of their own bodies. Their breaths come shallow and short, staring into each other's eyes intensely and kissing when they can. Timothée lifts his hips and ruts himself on Armie, until his orgasm hits. The spasms help get Armie off, coming inside and keeping himself there until he empties. 

Timothée stops Armie from getting up to fetch a cloth to clean them up with. "Hold me for a bit." 

Armie returns to his side right away, pulling him to his chest. "As long as you want." 

That week, Timothée buried himself in his studies and crammed it all in his weeknights so he could free himself to fly with Armie to be with Astrid. Unfortunately, it also meant that he was holed up in his room in Pauline's apartment, not seeing much of the outside world and only accepting calls. Armie adapted without missing a beat, showing up to the flat with snacks or an entire dinner takeout for the three of them, something Pauline encouraged very much. 

When they finally made it to Timothée's hometown, the exhaustion from their respective works seemed to suddenly fall down on them that they just collapsed together on bed, still dressed in pants and shirts, Astrid fitted right between them and enjoying the cocoon of their bodies. 

They still find new things to do out there, despite the months that they've spent. It's the first time that Armie manned the store along with Timothée for the entirety of the hours, Astrid sitting on her usual spot on the counter and talking to everybody who had a word or two to say. Armie easily became a crowd favorite that day; a dashing, tall American alpha whose natural charisma was paired with his endearing attempt to follow the transactions in French. The fresh flowers sold completely that day, with some plants and seedlings added on the sales. 

_ "Now we know where our darling Astrid got all this charm from."  _ Mrs. Gaudin remarked, accepting her second bouquet and loading it in her basket. 

Astrid looked up from fiddling with Armie on the register.  _ "From papa?"  _

_ "Oh darling, no, your papa is stiff as a tree." _

Timothée burst out laughing. 

The difference now that Armie moved officially to France was that the days he spent in the countryside weren't technically his off, unlike the months prior when he would fly for a week and barely do anything. Though he's with them, Armie was still obligated to receive calls and even attend video conferences every now and then, which was quite tricky because he's in a family house with barely any idea of a personal space, much less a professional one. None of them heard a word of complaint from Armie though, but Timothée still gathered them all in one area to clear up a space for him. 

Astrid had an activity in preschool on a family picture, as all nurseries do, which thankfully came at this point where they're complete as a unit. There's still some lingering confusion in Astrid as to why families don't include aunt Pauline, grandma and her mamie, but at least it got through in her that what was asked were simply papa and daddy. 

They tucked her in that night with a kiss on her forehead, Astrid even lightly teasing Armie on his unimproved French. Timothée laughed at their dynamic, his own chest flooding with warmth at the sight of the two giggling and tickling each other. 

"Armie," Timothée calls out as he sits on the bed, watching the alpha plug his phones and tablet to charge. 

"Yes?" He responds, twisting his torso to glance back at him. 

"Should we skip on suppressants?" Timothée asks shyly, peeking under his lashes and chewing on his bottom lip. 

The air in the room changes as Armie took in the question. He's positively  _ interested,  _ if not overly thrilled. 

Still, Armie tries to play it off, probably just to be courteous. "Well, that's a healthier option than suppressing cycles, so…" 

Timothée laughs at his weak attempt. "What the hell are you saying?" 

Armie pounces on him on the bed, hovering on top of him while Timothée lies on his back. "I'm down, if you want it." He noses along the side of his neck and runs a hand along his flank to emphasize his point. 

"I guess you are," Timothée replies as he cups Armie through the fabric of his sweatpants, feeling him tenting as his dick slowly fills out. 

"Won't that interfere with your studies though?" Props to Armie for still maintaining his wits despite the rubs on his crotch.

"A week in one semester won't crash my grades." 

"Oh, then I'm definitely down for skipping suppressants. In fact, I'm down  _ now.  _ Let me suck your dick." 

Timothée laughs in surprise when Armie moves off and slides his pants down. Putting a hand over his mouth, he keeps a hand on Armie as the alpha takes him in his mouth, while his fingers are already slipping in him to relax his muscles. The way Armie works on his pleasure shows that he's definitely looking to get Timothée off, jabbing at his spot with every push of his fingers and suckling on his dick as he bobs his head on the length. Timothée gives himself completely, letting the sensation flood through him until his orgasm builds and he comes. Armie chuckles darkly as he takes him in his arms so they're spooning on the bed, lifting Timothée's leg in the air to spread him open and slide his dick inside, fucking into him while he nibbles on his shoulder and neck. 

The bed definitely creaks with the angle, but not enough to cause scandal in the house. Timothée lolls his head to the side and accommodates Armie as he breathes him in, chasing his own orgasm with rapid thrusts until it builds and spills, making him groan as he rides out the waves of it. 

"Good talk." Timothée says smartly after the haze clears. 

Armie snorts. "True." 

They left Le Chambon-sur-Lignon on Sunday evening, but Timothée flew to Paris ahead since Armie needed to stay behind in Lyon for work. In hindsight, they should've taken that as an omen for what's to come. Scheduling their flights to return to the countryside proved to be quite a mess from there that for some four consecutive weeks, Timothée and Armie alternately spent the weekend with Astrid without the other. It confused Astrid for a while that she thought they're fighting, and convincing her otherwise had been tricky since they couldn't even manage to show up at the same time. 

Miraculously - or at least, to Timothée's standards - it didn't put a strain on their relationship. Timothée would often come over to Armie's and spend the night, with varying chances of productivity. They continue their sessions with Dr. Manoury in preparation to moving in together, which they planned to do by the summer break, along with moving Astrid to Paris. A huge brunt of it fell on Timothée for the very simple reason that he needs to get his act together, but Dr. Manoury and Armie both assured him that he's done so well consistently over the past months. 

Since they decided to forego their suppressants, they had to book a trip to the doctor. Timothée went to his doctor during his pregnancy for his medical history, which turned rough pretty quickly because Armie sat there listening to the extent of the difficulties that Timothée had gone through without prior warning. They could've done it exclusively in French, but the doctor demanded that Armie hear it from the people who handled it firsthand. Armie only knew the bullet points version, and Timothée truthfully cannot recall it in full either, which meant they're getting the detailed breakdown of Timothée's reproductive health while coming from a vague point of view. 

In all the months that they'd been back together, Timothée had never seen Armie crack. After that appointment, Armie had been uncharacteristically quiet; staring off at a distance too often and unable to maintain focus. It was the first time that Timothée had to deal with a withdrawal that wasn't his, and even coming from the person who he never imagined would need it. Logically, Armie had his fair share of down times, but never to the extent where he seemingly shut off and blanked out. 

Pauline was home when they arrived. She picked up on the mood rather quickly, but Armie still tried and greeted them with a smile, then hugged Astrid off the ground and spun her in circles. They still played together and Armie went along the usual routine of the house, and no one would've been able to tell given how high functioning he's been. The dead giveaway was Timothée standing at a distance, disoriented and visibly shaken with uncertainty over the situation. After dinner, Pauline stepped up to swipe Astrid off of them, promising her another entertaining night of literally anything she wanted if only she would leave her parents alone. 

For once, Armie actually listened to Nicole when she dismissed them from the kitchen when they tried to help with the clean up. Armie apologized, but was shushed even by their grandmother who very rarely bothered with English. Sheepish, Armie excused himself so he could wash up, bumping his nose in Timothée's hair absently but avoiding his eyes as he left. 

_ "Is something wrong?"  _ Nicole asks after Élodie escorts their grandmother to her room, concerned. 

Timothée takes a steadying breath, his own worry flooding in.  _ "We went to my doctor earlier because we thought to skip the suppressants. Basically, Armie heard my medical history which I already told him about but not to that extent because I don't remember it, either."  _

_ "Oh no, so that's why he looked so miserable. He must have felt guilty." _ Nicole grouses with a sigh.  _ "He hasn't talked to you?"  _

Timothée shakes his head, tearing up.  _ "Mom, I don't know what to do. I've never-"  _

_ "No, darling, no. Hush, come here."  _ Nicole pulls him into her arms and rubs soothingly on his back.  _ "It'll be fine, okay? Make sure to let him know you're there for him. I'm sure he'll come around fast, just give him time if he needs it."  _

_ "But I'm scared." _

_ "Of what?"  _

Timothée only shrugs and Nicole sighs again, holding his face in both hands. 

_ "That I can't?"  _ He says, unsure. 

_ "You've had those moments before, yes?"  _ Nicole prompts kindly, forcing him to meet her eyes. 

Timothée nods, not trusting his voice. 

_ "And? Would you have chosen to walk away? Or change your mind? Did you want anything else but what you two have?"  _

Timothée shakes his head, squirming out of his mother's grasps to hug her again. 

_ "It's okay, it'll be okay. Times like this will come down the road. It's important that you stick it out, for each other. Okay?"  _ Nicole hums approvingly when she feels Timothée move his head on the crook of her neck, nodding.  _ "Go to him. I'm sure he needs you now."  _

Timothée squeezes his mother in the embrace before releasing her. She smiles and brushes his hair away from his face, going on her tiptoes to press a kiss on his forehead. He turns on his heels and goes up his room, walking slowly along the hallway and listening intently for any sound. 

The bathroom door is open at the end of the hallway and there's light shuffling coming from his bedroom, indicating that Armie is already inside. Timothée takes a steadying breath before pushing his door open. He finds Armie just as he's slipping under the covers, barely looking up at him and giving a curt smile. He only sits against the headboard, looking down on his hands on his lap. 

"Will you-" Timothée's voice breaks immediately as he shuts the door behind him and walks closer to the bed. "Can you tell me what I can do? I don't know - Armie, I'm scared."

Armie snaps his head up, alarmed; his arms reaching forward to gather Timothée in an embrace. He goes willingly, straddling Armie’s lap and setting his hands on the alpha’s chest. Armie strokes his face, the room rapidly flooded the emotions he bottled up the entire day. His pain and regret are thick in the air that Timothée swears he could almost confuse them as his own. 

"You went through so much," Armie breathes out as he stares at Timothée, cupping his face tenderly. "My  _ God,  _ I'm so sorry." 

Timothée would protest if it isn't for the way Armie's face falls, his breaths coming shakily until his sobs escapes. It's likely just an episode as Armie takes in the information and gets overwhelmed by the abrupt way that it's laid down to him. Timothée understands that part, having gone through countless ones himself, and knowing Armie, Timothée is nearly confident that he only needs to know that he's there with him, no matter their history. Timothée scoots closer and puts Armie's head under his chin, letting it rest on his neck as he rocks them back and forth, offering comfort and assurance. 

"We're already here," Timothée whispers to him, his own heart breaking as Armie cries on his shoulder. "We've come so far, and you've done so much for me, too." 

Armie hugs him tighter, vehemently shaking his head though he's not moving away. "It was my fault. I've put you through it."

Timothée barely gets that since it's muffled against his skin. "No, it was  _ my  _ choice. Don't put this on you, Armie. Don't do that." He kisses the top of his head, then cradles it again in his arms when Armie refuses to lift his face. "I love you," he mumbles, consciously bracing himself to step up to be the stronger one between the two of them. 

It turned out to be all that Armie needed. It didn't magically disappear the morning after, but Timothée could tell the gradual offload of the information on him. They returned to Paris and met with Dr. Manoury, bringing up the issue. It was the first time that Timothée heard Armie talk about it in length, and it was astounding how well-connected he was to his emotions even when he's still in the middle of processing them. There's an unspoken 'take note' in the momentary side glances that Dr. Manoury would throw his way, and Timothée can't even take offense since he knew how this very quality that Armie developed saved their relationship from burning to the ground during the time when Timothée hardly had anything good to offer. 

When Timothée went to Pauline's flat after his classes, he packed a lot of his papers for his studies, along with his laptop and tablet, telling his sister that he'd be with Armie for the meantime. 

_ "I'm so proud of the two of you."  _ She told him as he was slinging his bag on his shoulder.  _ "Your willingness and your effort to hold everything together is just amazing. Astrid is so lucky that you two are her parents." _

Timothée smiled, warming up at the words. He moved to her for a hug, which she met halfway.

When Timothée shows up again in Armie's loft, he finds the alpha holed up in his office, buried behind stacks of work spread all over his desk. 

"Oh, hey," Armie leans back and stretches when he sees him by the door. "You're here."

Timothée huffs amusedly, still mildly in awe that Armie can still look at him with immense wonder after all this time. 

"I'll stay here for a bit." He walks over to the desk, watching Armie's body language and feeling encouraged when he pushes his chair away to welcome Timothée to sit on his lap. 

"Does it have something to do with how I worried you over the weekend?" Armie asks shyly, nuzzling against his shoulder.

"Yes, it has everything to do with that." Timothée confirms, kissing the tip of his nose. "And I want to be with you, too." 

Armie actually blushes when he hears it, though he doesn't try to hide his face away. "Oh, thank God you do, or it would've been awkward. I moved to France for you." 

Laughing, Timothée smacks him on the forearm, taking the snark as a sign that he's doing considerably better. 

They progressed cautiously from there, returning to the clinic for their reproductive health checkup nearly a month after Armie's initial breakdown. Though it seemed unnecessarily put off, Dr. Manoury agreed on their approach to it, appreciating how they both recognized the need to let the knowledge seep into Armie first before throwing him back in under the assault of his medical history. It didn't stop Timothée from worrying the entire time that they were there, but Armie obviously had bounced back if he was the one anchoring him during the visit.

"No suppressants for? Two months now, right?" Dr. Arnaud asked, heavily accented and uncaring of his grammar. 

They gave a nod, finding him too strict to feel at ease. 

"Your last cycle was five years - almost six, now? Also the very first?!  _ My God, Mr. Chalamet!  _ Let's do general check up, okay?" It wasn't a suggestion, evidently since he's already scheduling him for one. "And Mr. Hammer, your cycle?" 

"Suppressed, too. It went irregular for a bit, so we had to do something about that. I'd say, four years of suppressants." Armie replied warily. 

"General check up for you as well." Dr. Arnaud wrote it on his pad along with his notes on Timothée. "Here it said your cycle came six months after getting off suppressants?" 

Timothée nodded in confirmation. 

"Synced?" 

They nod again. 

Dr. Arnaud added that information to their record. "Watch it for next month; you two have claim. Also, we can induce it. Hard to regulate, but at least a start." 

"We'll wait for the results first. It could say a lot of which is a better option." Armie responded.

"Good call." 

It was all done and over with the following week. Armie is perfectly fine, because he totally has his life together no matter where anyone looks. Miraculously, Timothée hasn't permanently damaged his organs from the absolute neglect that he put himself under. The visit inevitably brought up fertility and possible pregnancy in the future. Dr. Arnaud advised him to work out, gain some weight, take supplements, regulate his cycles, all well before they try to conceive. Armie stopped him from there, assuring him that they're only looking to watch their health for now. It's likely that he still carried some lingering blow from knowing the full extent of Timothée's history, but he still appreciated the concern. 

Naturally, it didn't stop there. Dr. Arnaud brought up mating; biting, bonding, the whole nine yards that would bind them for good. These are things that they haven't even breached yet, considering the  _ other  _ doctor that they're still in the process of seeing due to their combined mental health issues. Needless to say, they left the clinic mildly dizzy. 

"Our social life outside our family consists of two doctors." Armie quipped smartly as they travelled to the countryside home. 

Timothée caught his face in his palms as he shook with laughter, unable to deny the ridiculous fact. 

To their surprise, it was Astrid who brought up their supposed move to Paris for the first time in a while. She's still quite into ballet, but it's also clear that she might forget about it if another thing comes along since her fixation has calmed down significantly. What's shaping into certainty is the fact that Astrid appeared to be heavily inclined to performing arts, so they're watching out for that. 

"Daddy, if I go to Paris with you and papa, do we also go back like you do when you visit me?" Astrid asked them as they cuddled together on the couch, drinking hot chocolate and snacking on pastries. 

Ideally, not as often, since the travel itself is quite taxing. It's her normal though, and Timothée understands better than most how important it is to gradually get her accustomed to change rather than flipping it at once and risking a shock. 

Armie looked at him for cues. Timothée gave a nod. 

"Of course," Armie assured her. "You can still meet up with your friends and stay in the store." 

Astrid was happy to hear that, cheering momentarily before turning gloomy again. "Mamie said her and grandma are not coming because they're old." 

There are definitely better ways to put it than that, but Timothée supposed he can only make do of what he has now. 

"Grandma will be sad if she leaves this house; it's from grandpa, you see." Timothée explained carefully. "Mamie can't come either because she can't leave the store."

"We can't close it!" Astrid protested vehemently. 

Armie cooed and hugged her, making Timothée chuckle. He reached forward and stroked her face. 

"That's why they're not coming with us." Armie told her, trying to soothe her with gentle sways. 

"How about aunt Pauline?" Astrid was getting upset already, but at least they have a better answer for this one. 

"She'll be there with us." Timothée told her. 

Astrid took the consolation. 

The term is approaching the final month, which means that the stress level for Timothée is through the roof. Armie knows to just make himself scarce even in his own loft where Timothée would randomly pop up and terrorize his space, but being who he is, he makes sure that Timothée has snacks within reach and meals prepared in the kitchen. On top of that, Timothée would roam around the loft to specifically put himself within the same space as Armie, whether it be the bedroom or his office. Armie just blows out a quiet laugh every time he does it, and Timothée would pretend he didn't hear it. 

Given the situation, both of them have bursts of productivity that their tasks just get knocked down efficiently, until a certain point in the day when they'd run out of steam. It's usually past dinner time and well into the night. Timothée would toss his laptop away and crawl on Armie's lap, wherever he happens to be, and simply stay there until Armie sets his own work aside to coddle him. 

The sex is still spectacular, to no one's surprise, though these days it does serve as an avenue to blow off some steam. Even if they get to play around, they're maddeningly aware that they can't drag it on since they have their deadlines waiting for them. 

On a perfectly normal and boring day, Timothée receives a message from Armie as he's leaving his classes. 

_ How big of a mess will it be if you take a week off in university?  _

Timothée stares on his phone, puzzled, for a good minute in the middle of the hallway until another student accidentally runs into him. They apologize briefly and he moves to the side, confused with the message. 

_ It's finals week.  _ Timothée replies. 

Technically, he only has one exam left to take and two final papers nearly done for submission. Still, Timothée knows better than to procrastinate, so whatever Armie has up his sleeve has the most terrible timing. 

_ I think I'm going in rut.  _

_ Like, maybe tomorrow.  _

Timothée gasps loudly that some passerby turns their head towards him, alarmed. He avoids their eyes and shuffles away, dialing Armie and waiting for him to pick up as he walks to the office.

"Hello?" Armie says through the line, calm and collected as always. 

"Are you sure? Because I feel nothing. I don't think I'd go into heat anytime soon." Timothée tells him, waving through the window of the office to fill out a medical form to excuse himself for the week. 

Armie hums. "We might not sync right away." 

"Damn, twice the amount of leave for us." Timothée absently remarks as he writes. 

"I know it's your finals week. You can-" 

"No!" 

The staff turns to look at him, questioning. Timothée apologizes under his breath. 

"You sound like you feel strongly about this." Armie teases lightly. 

To be fair, it's not wrong. "I want to. My finals can be put off for a couple of days. It'll be fine." 

The staff walks back to him and takes the form. Cycles are considered to be medical emergencies, which can be applied for excuse in academic and professional settings. The paperworks are filed immediately upon return, which shouldn't be more than three business days past the issuance of a doctor's note. It's a very accommodating system. 

"You _ want  _ to?" Armie repeats, amused. 

Timothée rolls his eyes as he waits for the confirmation. "Yes. I'm curious if you're at the age where you'd pull a muscle from knotting." 

Armie guffaws loudly through the line. "I will not embarrass myself."

"Bet?"

"Bet."

That night, Timothée packs his remaining school stuff from Pauline's flat and tells her she'll be with Armie for the week. She only gives a look, which Timothée returns, and the message is communicated just like that. Instead of actually just jumping right into bed, Armie takes his stuff and drops it in the office, right on the couch which is slowly becoming Timothée's spot, then drags him back outside again. 

"Why can't you just fuck me on the couch?" Timothée asks as they enter the elevator. 

Armie glances over at him, his eyes turning dark. "We need groceries."

"Oh, okay. I was just wondering." Timothée says dismissively, slithering close to Armie and slipping his hand under his coat. 

When Armie looks down at him but Timothée keeps his eyes forward as he drops his hand on Armie's ass and gropes him. Out of the corner of his eyes, Timothée sees the sudden movement when Armie turns and grips him by the neck, pushing him against the wall and kissing him aggressively. A part of his consciousness black out and reboots with a bright spark, sending his impulse forward that he's nearly climbing Armie as they make out like teenagers in the lift. The security must have been wolf-whistling in their duty as they watch their display. 

It's even more intoxicating when Armie barely looks affected when the doors open before they could part. He only steps away casually and straightens Timothée's clothes then his own, wrapping one arm wrapped around his waist to keep him by his side. The tenants coming in could tell exactly what's going on, but Parisians hardly ever cared. Timothée's head is swimming in haze at this point, slightly wobbly at the knees that he leans heavily against Armie as they stand. 

"We still have an errand to do. Get up." Armie commands sternly, the slight upturn of his lips a dead giveaway of his amusement. 

Timothée hugs him around the middle, burying his face in Armie's chest. "It  _ can _ wait." 

"You brought this to yourself." 

"Armie, come on." 

"Behave." 

Timothée shuts up, his jaw clicking audibly. Armie hums approvingly, taking his hand into his as they walk out of the lift to catch a cab outside the building. Their sexual tension continuously buzzes between them that Timothée feels a bit apologetic to the driver, and then the people who pass them by later on in the grocery. Armie, on the other hand, is uncaring as always. He struts in the building and takes a cart, loads it up unthinkingly as Timothée trails behind him. 

"Do you want anything?" Armie asks as they walk through the candy aisle. 

Timothée snorts. "Not anything you can give me here." 

Armie snorts at that, too. 

Sometimes, Armie can be a total douchebag, just because he knows Timothée can take a little bit of edging. Like now, when they could've just settled for the standard butter and marmalade but Armie just had to find that specific brand. There are prepared fruit baskets in the produce section but Armie wants the organic ones and picks each fruit individually down the area. Timothée is dead fuming as he pushes their cart, unabashedly glaring every time Armie would meet his eyes. 

The moment they return to the loft, Timothée impatiently stalks right into the bedroom after dropping the bags on the kitchen counter. He's not even through the door when Armie scoops him by the waist and throws him over his shoulder, then throwing him in the middle of the bed. 

"Strip," Armie orders curtly, then turns away to leave the room. 

Timothée complies eagerly, shrugging his jacket off and pulling his shirt off. He lifts his hips as he unbuckles his pants, then shoves it down along with his boxer and kicks his socks off at the same time. When Armie returns, he has a whip, a gag and a vibrator in hand, making Timothée swallow nervously. 

"What's wrong?" Armie asks darkly, sauntering closer to the bed. "Weren't you eager?" 

"Yeah," Timothée shakes himself out of his surprise. "Fuck me up."

Armie laughs, and that’s about the last of it that Timothée gets for that night. 

From there, Armie tells him to go on all fours, warning him not to come and doing literally everything that counters his own command. Timothée struggles to keep himself upright as Armie kisses and bites from his nape down to his lower back, along with the fingers thrusting inside him and curling just on the right spot to get his knees to shake. 

"Be quiet." Armie snaps when he keens loudly and moans, punching on the pillows as Armie applies pressure on his spot. 

It's an official pattern when Armie starts to frantically finger him, making him yelp and cry out from the sensation. Another warning comes as Timothée makes more noise, but it's nearly impossible to keep his voice down when Armie jabs his fingers inside him like so. When he resorts to biting the pillow, he feels Armie's fingers thread in his hair then pulls harshly, making him release his bite. 

"Open up." 

Armie puts the ball gag in his mouth, securing it around his head, leaving a light peck on his cheek after reminding him not to come. 

Naturally, Armie touches him in all the ways that he knows will drive Timothée to the edge. He's fingered at the right speed and with the precise strength, bitten just when Armie hits him spot on, his dick tugged and squeezed until he's screaming; his orgasm rippling through his body that he squirts and collapses on the bed. 

"What did I say?" Armie snaps the gag off, waiting for his answer. 

_ Oh fuck you,  _ Timothée thinks, hardly even recovered from coming so hard. 

"Don't come." Timothée says instead, panting hard with his eyes shut. 

"Bang up job. Let's try that again." 

Armie puts the gag back in, pulling him to return on all fours. Clearly, it's not happening, so they compromise with Timothée hopefully keeping his ass up in the air. 

The whips lands in steady blows across the flesh of his ass, but it still comes as surprising as the last. Timothée, ironically, tries his hardest to keep his voice down this time, as if it counts when he already has a gag. As far as he can tell, Armie is not new with whips at all, maybe from horses, definitely because he's just a kinky son of a bitch. It's like fire spreading from on strip where the whip initially lands, staying warm for a bit before another blow lands, until his entire ass feels hot and raw. 

"Not enough?" 

_ Of what the fuck now, Armand? _

The vibrator slips inside him shortly after, then Timothée realizes that the point is to get him hard again. Armie turns in up to the highest immediately, whipping him once and hard at the same time, then the vibrations gradually die down. Timothée turns his head to the side in an attempt to look at Armie, who meets his gaze daringly. 

Bracing himself, Timothée squirms until he manages to get back on all fours, which pleases Armie greatly. He picks up the same pattern of turning the vibrator to the max and landing blows, then mellowing with light caresses until he's well and fully hard again. 

"There you go." Armie remarks, dropping the whip to stroke the raw flesh. "Want to keep the gag?" 

Timothée shakes his head vehemently. 

Armie nods at him, a permission to take it off. In the meantime, Armie begins to undress himself,  _ finally,  _ shedding his shirt first then unbuckling his belt, pushing his pants and boxers in one go and kicking them off. Timothée can barely turn to lie on his back, afraid of putting anything near his beaten ass. Armie smirks when he notices, but kind enough to pick him off the bed as he lies down instead. 

Once seated facing away, Timothée nearly groans as he realizes that Armie wants him to ride him like that. Which is totally fine. Except his legs feel like jelly. Still, Timothée flexes his thighs and grips on Armie's knees, letting the alpha pull the vibrator out then guide his cock to slip inside. 

There's a slight shift in the air that Timothée only notices well into the act; Armie thrusting his hips up rather than Timothée slamming himself down as he's done in the first half. He looks over his shoulder just in time to see Armie reach for his hair, dragging him back to lie down on his chest before pounding brutally that their hips snap loudly. The rut has started, and Armie gets the first knot out of the way just like that. There's hardly any finesse with the way that Armie pistons his pelvis upwards, though Timothée won't be complaining since he's overstimulted enough to take every sensation to the core. He reaches between his legs, fighting to keep his eyes open as Armie drives his cock harder and deeper with every trust. 

Suddenly, Armie flips them so Timothée is facedown on the bed, one hand firmly locking him in place by the nape. Armie picks up his pace hastily, his other hand gripping on Timothée's pelvic bone that he bets it digs into Armie's palm. Armie kneels to bend forward, latching on the flesh of his shoulder with his mouth, letting Timothée rut into the sheets until he comes helplessly. He's as good as whimpering and crying as Armie thrusts in him relentlessly, the shape of the knot nearly breaching every single time that Timothée inevitably stretches around it. 

The more Armie tries to fit the outline of it around the rim of his hole, the more his body fumbles to accommodate the alpha. Right in the very last minute, Timothée feels a gush of his slick flow out on the length of Armie's dick, just as he's finally coming; the knot slipping inside and pumping him full. 

"Are you, like, verbal?" Timothée asks as Armie spoons him as they wait for the knot to come down. 

"Don't be a little shit."

"If I'm beat within an inch of my life, I'd be whatever the hell I want."

It's past midnight when Timothée gets woken up by insistent grinding on his ass. Armie is already breathing hard in his ears, licking and nibbling his earlobe. The rut seems to cloud him completely this time; he's not even fully conscious yet. Timothée turns to face him and takes his dick in his hand, already heavy and hard, giving it gentle pulls until Armie opens his eyes. His gaze focuses on him, and instead of a frenzied pounce, Timothée gets an openly affectionate smile. Armie cranes his neck to him, asking for a kiss. 

It's been five years since they had sex during a cycle. Timothée has nearly forgotten the fact that Armie, despite being a textbook alpha, gets some very submissive moments during his rut. Unfortunately, any play will have to be saved for later. Timothée isn't up to doing a lot at the moment, so he pulls Armie to hover above him; spreading his legs so the alpha could put himself back in. 

There's a moment of clarity around dawn, and only because they're starving. Timothée whines unhappily when he wakes up to his stomach practically roaring. Armie drops a kiss to his forehead, picking him up and carrying him to the en suite to wash up. 

"I'll make us something." Armie tells him after running the bath. 

Timothée asks for a kiss before he goes, then cleans himself off of the slick and come. He doesn't intend to stay in the bathroom for long, so he only follows Armie's lead and wipes himself on the most obvious spots. When he goes to the kitchen, Armie has eggs and bacon frying in a pan while he toasts slices of bread. Timothée makes himself useful by brewing them cups of coffee. They get through breakfast pretty successfully, especially since they even get the dishes done before Armie is bending him over the dining table. 

The day wastes away as they alternate from eating, fucking and napping in different spots of the loft. There's even a small window where Timothée manages to write the final pages to one of his term paper before Armie demands his attention by going between his legs and blowing him under the blanket. 

It's also one of the rare times that it's up to Timothée to dote on Armie; making sure he drinks water, eats enough food, snacks enough in between. It brings an extremely pleasant warmth when he manages to take care of the alpha, which also comes with the realization that it's not that he's not inclined to do it for Armie; he just doesn't feel capable enough compared to him. 

Around evening, Nicole sends a message to Timothée, telling him that Astrid is asking for them. Armie is snoring softly right in his ear, his entire torso draped over Timothée's as he passed out after another knotting. He taps lightly, earning only a grumble. 

"Astrid is waiting for us to call." Timothée brushes through Armie's hair, their breaths syncing with one another. 

"Give me a sec," Armie promises, sighing contentedly on his neck. 

The call is made a little later than usual, which also made it conveniently shorter. Nicole brings the phone upstairs with her as she tucks Astrid to bed, then hangs up with a meaningful look to each of them. Timothée gives her a reassuring nod, but Armie seems too fogged up to catch on. It's amusing, to say the least, given how bright he usually is. 

They miraculously get an uninterrupted sleep until past sunrise. As a result, Armie wakes up with a raging urge to mate, getting Timothée to present first thing in the morning and mounting him. That sets the mood for first half of the day; Armie possessively refusing to leave Timothée's side and pulling him to fuck the moment his cock shows any sign on interest. 

The second day of the rut is basically sex all over the loft; from the bedroom to the en suite then the walk-in closet. From the kitchen counter to the dining table then the couch. From the office desk to the couch. No exhibitionism, thank God, though it doesn't seem to be a concern given how territorial and aggressive Armie is. 

No call for Astrid, and for the better. Timothée takes it upon himself to warn Nicole about the intensity, no matter how weirded out he got by informing his mother how hard he's getting railed, but anything to keep your kid from getting traumatized, right? 

It always calms down significantly by the third day. Interestingly, it means that Armie will be all dopey and smiling, nuzzling his face against Timothée's, snuggling him every second of the day, making out with him while they wait out the knot. It's constant adoration and borderline worship; a very good combination for Timothée's ego. He happily returns the advances, enjoying the entire day way more than he did the first two. 

_ "Oh, wow. Do you - are you alright?"  _ Pauline rises to her feet from the couch, genuinely concerned when he shows up after four days of nearly no contact to the outside world. 

_ "Yeah, just tired. I need my printed drafts but I didn't want you to bring them over because-"  _ Timothée waves in the air, indicating the rut, then to himself as he limps across the apartment. 

_ "He worked you over good. Or bad." _ Pauline notes as she watches him enter the bedroom.  _ "Do you need help? Because you look like you do. Yell if you need something."  _

It's just one chunky folder that he needs with the notes and remarks from his professors. It's not that hard. 

_ "This is all I need."  _ Timothée emerges from the bedroom and pours himself a glass of water.  _ "Everything going alright?"  _

Pauline is still looking at him worriedly.  _ "Yeah, all good. Excuse my nosiness, why did Armie let you go out looking like he snapped you in half then super-glued you back by the joints?"  _

Timothée guffaws.  _ "I told him he can come with, but you'll see him post-rut."  _

_ "You're the motherfucking devil."  _

Timothée manages to submit his final requirements by the end of the week, then gets in touch with his professor to take the exam he missed. They acquired a medical certificate immediately after and hand it over to their respective offices, making sure their filed leave are complete and marked valid. 

They visit Dr. Manoury that weekend, which at that point is only easygoing chat about their weeks and how they've gone through the gradual progress of their relationship. It's always a surprise when she points out how far they've come, especially since Timothée can't tell it himself. Perhaps that's why it weighs heavier too; none of it is forced and taxing. They've really gone through a process of healing and now are starting to reap. 

"Moving in soon, right?" She asks with a thrilled smile. 

Armie looks over at Timothée, only nodding his confirmation after he does. 

Dr. Manoury notes the consideration on Armie's part but doesn't say anything. "How about dear Astrid? How is she taking it?" 

"Compromising," Timothée responds with a sigh. "She wants to be with us, but she has a life back in our hometown, where her friends are. We thought to bring her home on the same interval that we visit her now." 

Dr. Manoury looks pleased about the plan. "Less shock," she remarks approvingly. "Well then, Mr. Chalamet, just between the two of you, are you confident about moving in now?" 

Armie leans back on his seat, like he's subconsciously giving Timothée space to freely express his answer without being restricted by his presence. 

"I am, actually." Timothée says, resolved. There's a whiff of delighted surprise coming from Armie, making him smile. "I've improved. Right? I can say that - can I?" 

He looks over to Armie, who's already staring at him with open pride and a loving smile. 

"Yeah, he really did." Armie reaches forward to brush his hair to the side. "It's really controlled now  _ and  _ acknowledged. He communicates better, too." 

Dr. Manoury is visibly happy about this. "Look at that, I might even say you're gradually losing the need for me." 

It's the sweetest paradox. Eventually, they'll have to take the helm completely in their relationship, because they'll be fit and capable to do so. The vote of confidence moves Timothée greatly. He's in a much better place now than he has been in years. It's surreal and gratifying to know that his feet can finally carry him to agreeably healthy and joyful paths in his life, rightfully guided by his experiences and a strong support system that ground him all this time. 

The healing process had been gruelling and frankly a landmine. Timothée could count more setbacks than breakthroughs, more tipping points than actual preventions, more lashing out than communicating. The recovery was something built brick by brick, by his own hands, catching his blood, sweat and tears in the cracks yet still holding up. For the first time in his life, Timothée feels like he can say that he's proud of himself and mean it. 

Armie helps to move his things to his loft little by little during the tail-end of the university term. Timothée takes the very last exam until he's considered done with his second year, then spends the rest of it sorting through his records to make sure he's not leaving deficiencies. Whenever he returns to Pauline's flat, he has less and less things present. Pauline even jokes that she's already planned out how she'll be clearing his space, but in the end clings on him so tightly; somehow in utter disbelief that her baby brother Timothée - who's claimed and has one child - will be moving out of the same residence as her. It's a little bit funny, but Timothée totally gets it, which is why he doesn't laugh. 

Armie shows up to the flat to pick him up and finds the two of them sniffling on the couch, spilling their guts to each other all over the living room. Pauline nudges him subtly with her foot, then shoves him completely when he doesn't budge. Laughing, Timothée stumbles to get on his feet then throws himself to Armie, who catches him in an embrace easily. 

"I like this greeting."Armie murmurs to his hair, dropping a chaste kiss and swaying them slightly. 

"I can greet you like this every time you come home." Timothée pulls away so they can look at each other. 

Armie beams at him, the reference sinking in immediately. "I like that even more." 

"I figured." 

They kissed by the door until Pauline booed obnoxiously. 

Once they're in the loft, Armie helps Timothée to unpack his things starting with the rest of his clothes. They sit on the floor of the wardrobe, folding them and slipping hangers. There's only one duffel so it doesn't take them long, but Timothée still sees the same disbelief in Armie that he feels in himself. They move to the shelves along the main area, sorting through Timothée's books and slipping the ones in the spaces until it fills out. The rest goes to the office, where Timothée has unofficially claimed the couch and coffee table to be his work space. 

There's really nothing much left aside from his basic necessities. Timothée has lived most of his life like a college kid in a dorm, so he has very minimal possessions. Armie keeps pausing around the loft to examine spaces, likely trying to figure out how to rearrange the area so Timothée can get settled in better. 

"We can bring Astrid back with us by next week." Timothée says, coming up behind Armie and wrapping his arms around his waist. 

"It's happening." Armie blows out air, then huffs a short chuckle. He twists in Timothée's arms and wraps his own around his shoulders, kissing the top of his head. "We're going to be that vanilla family with a posh daughter who does ballet." 

Timothée laughs, pinching Armie on the flank. "Should we enroll her into one? Have you looked into it?" 

"I did, actually." Armie releases him but keeps an arm around his shoulder, walking to them over to the couch to sit. "Looks very tough. I'm worried." 

"Oh, now  _ you're  _ worried." Timothée teases, snuggling in his chest and gripping his chin between his index finger and thumb. 

Armie opens his mouth, pretending to bite. "In my defense, I, too, did think that it's very pretty." 

"God, I swear the two of you pass around the same brain cell." 

"Did you just call me a dumb blond?" 

"I literally didn't say that." 

"Because I agree." 

Timothée hits Armie on the face with a pillow, the two of them laughing as they fall off their seats. 

Because the universe isn't really on board with letting them catch a break, Timothée wakes up on the crack of dawn on the day that they're supposed to leave for Le Chambon-sur-Lignon, noticing that the covers are removed and he's naked while Armie wipes him with a cold, damp towel. 

"Hey," Armie whispers softly, helping him up. "How do you feel?" 

The room is inexplicably hot, and there's pain around his pelvic area. Timothée is too disoriented to understand the situation, but whatever Armie is doing definitely helps. 

"You're in heat." Armie takes a dry towel this time, wiping his forehead while keeping the cold one draped over his neck. "Are you in pain?" 

Timothée whimpers and nods, fidgeting on the bed to climb on Armie's lap. He's embraced immediately, rocking soothingly as Armie props them against the headboard.

"How about a bath?" Armie runs his fingertips up and down his spine, making shushing noises as Timothée burrows into the hollow of his neck. 

"It hurts and it's hot," he complains. 

"I'll take you to the bathroom, okay? It'll help." 

Timothée huffs but he nods anyway, letting Armie carry him off and run him a bath. It does help with the overheating, but the cold water seems to trigger his cramps. Armie notices his discomfort but makes him stay submerged for a couple more minutes. 

Once Timothée is brought back to the bed, Armie leaves to fetch some tea and a hot compress. Either it helped or Timothée just passed out, but he does stir a little while later and opens his eyes as he smells food cooking. 

The next sensation is another cramp, followed by an instinctive urge to find Armie. There's hurried fumbling coming from the kitchen, then Armie pops right into the room, gathering Timothée in his arms as he's crawling out of the bed. 

"I know, I know." Armie caresses his back when he keeps keening. "Trust me, okay?" 

Trust isn't the problem. Armie is leagues better than Timothée when it comes to caring for another human being. It's the oversensitivity that makes every touch feel like a scald. Still, he tries to comply when Armie turns him to lie on his back, slipping a finger in him while he tugs on his cock to stimulate an orgasm. Timothée cries out, equal parts pained and relieved, but the combination is not pleasant at all. Armie tries to get him through it as good as he can, kissing all over his face and gradually picking up his speed then dropping when Timothée taps on him insistently. 

Eventually, Armie manages to rub one out, but it's fire erupting from his stomach then spreading all over his body for Timothée. He turns his head to face Armie, on the verge of tears, curling towards him in a tight ball as he's cradled through the initial discomfort. 

When Timothée stirs awake around noon, he's down to get this heat going. He kicks of the hot compress and tosses the towel away; his senses heightened significantly as he pushes himself to his feet. There's still pain around his hips, though slowly subsiding, but his need to find Armie seems to be stronger this time. 

He finds the alpha in the kitchen, which is getting ridiculous now because he seems to be permanently hanging around there. Armie looks up as he walks out of the room, his face immediately catching on the change in the air. He leaves everything on the counter and meets Timothée halfway, picking him up from the floor and bringing him to the couch. 

Timothée growls, tightening his limbs so he can stay on top and straddle Armie's lap. The alpha allows it, but growls back when Timothée tries to skip the prepping. The fingers barely give him anything, even when he slams his hips down on Armie's hand. He also tries to jerk himself off,  _ anythin _ g to give himself a little more, but Armie makes sure to get him fully ready before taking his dick out of his sweatpants. Timothée gasps loudly, fumbling on Armie's lap to sink himself down on the length. 

Armie kisses from his chest and up to his neck as Timothée takes him to the hilt, head thrown back and moaning loudly. Timothée takes control of the situation, bouncing himself and putting their mouths together. Every slight movement from Armie is just an effort to accommodate his needs, sliding down a bit on his seat, putting his hands on his ass, keeping his neck craned up to be available if Timothée wants a kiss. 

The knot catches eventually, the two of them coming within a split second of each other, but Timothée feels his tension bleeding away as Armie steadily spills inside him. 

"You need to eat." Armie tells him once the knot deflates. 

Timothée is still sitting on him, barely conscious and indifferent. 

Chuckling, Armie gets on his feet and brings them to the bathroom, pulling out when they're standing on the bathtub and cleaning off the come, slick and sweat. 

"Food, alright?" Armie reminds him when Timothée keeps on embracing him as he's being wrapped in a robe. "Come," he says, taking him by the hand and leading them to the kitchen. 

Timothée sits on the kitchen counter, unwilling to part. Armie thinks it's cute, because he's generally just very smitten with Timothée on a regular basis. Armie fills a plate with roasted chicken, potatoes, and salad, standing between Timothée's legs and feeding them both alternately. The gesture is very sweet, in his opinion, and also effective, since Timothée doesn't even complain about the amount of food being fed to him. 

Once they finish their meal, Armie brings them back to the bathroom, this time to have a proper shower. He takes it upon himself to wash Timothée from head to toe, which in turn he does for Armie. 

Naturally, exchanging touches under the shower in the massive bathroom leads to something else, heat or not. Timothée gets on his knees and gives Armie a blowjob, no matter that he's not even that hard, relishing the feeling of gradual erection as he sucks takes the length of it to the back of his throat, releasing slowly to suckle on the tip then doing it all over again. 

Due to his heat, Timothée is just about ready to have a go again, but Armie is not on his cycle, making it harder for him to keep up. Instead, he takes Timothée in their wardrobe and sits him down on the ottoman, firmly ordering him to stay where he's left. The toys are taken out of the discreet cabinet that separates their sides of the closet. Armie takes a vibrator and a dildo, then gets to work. 

It could've been just half an hour or three, but Armie teases him until he screams and slides off the ottoman, letting him come as much as he can. There vibrator stays right between the base of his dick and his balls, while Armie drives the other toy to the base, making sure it hits him on the spot when he does it. So far, he's already on his way to a second orgasm; his dick filling out nicely but obviously with tremendous effort since it hasn't been a while after his last. 

The best and worst part of it all is the kisses. Everything happening down there is just downright filthy, but every kiss coming from Armie is explosively sensual that Timothée feels his head swimming. It's always tender and reassuring, as if he isn't the same person who's working his dick and hole over simultaneously. Timothée's eyes are rolling to the back of his head, his jaw hanging slack as his entire body lies boneless under Armie, letting him do as he pleases. 

When Armie notices that he's gone completely submissive, he picks up all his ministrations and overstimultes Timothée until he comes; his dick barely spurting out anything while his hole squirts out enough slick to cover the entirety of Armie's forearm.

"Beautiful," Armie remarks smugly, pullint the dildo out but keeping the vibrator in place. "I'm gonna fuck you now, yeah?" 

Timothée vaguely registers getting carried and deposited down on their bed. Armie folds him in half, taking the vibrator and putting it around his rim as his dick pushes inside. His lashes already feel heavy with the amount of tears he squeezed out of his eyes, but Timothée still forces them to open. Armie smirks at him, bending forward to make out as he drives his hips forward, snapping it so brutally that Timothée feels the end of his dick right into his gut. 

The knot slips in not long after, since Armie isn't looking to drag things further anyway. It's better like that, too. Timothée is about to break with how high up he's brought from getting played with. 

They sleep most of the afternoon away, waking up again by evening to eat, then falling back on the nearest comfortable surface to have sex. 

Timothée's heat lasts for four days, with varying levels of difficulty depending on where the sun is currently in the horizon. Armie manages to come through no matter when the height of it hits, whether the middle of the night or while they're eating. The aftercare is also  _ immaculate, _ which shouldn't be surprising anymore but it still leaves Timothée in uttter disbelief. Armie is simply perfect, nothing more, nothing less, and he has the utmost gratefulness in mind first thing when he gathers his wits on the morning after his heat finishes. 

"It's passed?" Armie stirs from Timothée's caress on his face, blinking blearily and forcing himself to wake up. 

Timothée hums, snuggling on his chest. "Tired?" 

"Tired?" Armie repeats, aghast. "My dick is going to fall off, Timothée." 

They make use of the day to tidy up around the loft; erasing traces of fucking on every surface which turns out to be everywhere. It takes up the majority of their time, their pauses only dedicated to hydrating or eating. Armie tells him that he talked to Astrid in the phone on certain moments of clarity during his cycle, but Timothée can't recall any for the life of him. They note their behaviors during cycles as detailed as they can. If they're skipping on suppressants, they should know as much as they can. 

_ "Ah, glowing. Of course, Armie took good care of you."  _ Grandma says the moment they come to her line of sight. 

Armie is painfully unaware of the quip, waving to their grandmother cheerfully as Astrid already demands to sit on his shoulders. Timothée's face burns, looking at his mother for help but she's already exchanging whispers with Élodie, giggling under their breaths. 

"Why? What's up?" Armie tilts his head sideways, gauging his expression. 

Timothée shakes his head, cooing at Astrid over Armie's head. "Grandma teasing, as always." 

"Bet she said I did well." 

Timothée glares. 

"Ha! She totally did!" 

Armie takes the weekend off at work, but he has to get to Lyon by Monday and stay for two days. Timothée knows he has absolutely no intention of flying without him, so he talks to Astrid to let her know that they'll stop by Lyon first before going to Paris. 

A huge amount of their time is spent on packing even more stuff to bring to the loft. Armie helps him attentively, while Astrid hangs around and asks endless amounts of questions about Timothée's belongings that she's just only seeing that day. There comes a certain point where they unearth a bunch of his old clothes, which he doesn't really think much of until he sees Armie frozen by his side, visibly taken aback by the sight of the clothes he remembers Timothée in five years ago. 

Armie takes a shirt and waves it in the air. "You wore this on your date with that Justin son of a bitch." 

"Hey, language!" Timothée swats him on the thigh, snatching his shirt. 

"Huh?" Astrid grumbles, alarmed by the sudden commotion. 

"Nothing, sweetie." Timothée scowls at Armie, who playfully returns it and even sticks his tongue out. 

Packing his stuff becomes a trip down the memory lane. It's unexpected, but rewarding as they get through his belongings piece by piece, the two of them pitching in their memories of whatever is on sight. 

"You're alright." Armie comments suddenly, holding a suspiciously wrapped parcel on his hand. 

Timothée frowns but answers anyway. "Yes?" 

"I mean, looking back now." Armie clarifies, a tad nervous but more thrilled. "Us, five years ago." 

Timothée can't help but smile in relief once he understands where Armie is getting at. "Yes," he responds, fully certain. "I've come to terms with everything now." 

"Great. That's awesome." Armie blows out air like he's getting choked up. 

Astrid is straying out to the hallway now, coming in and out of her room. Armie takes a moment to watch her before turning his gaze back to Timothée. He smiles, sliding on the floor so they can sit side by side. 

"You're seriously the strongest person I know." Armie pulls him by the shoulder, dropping a kiss on the top of his head. "I love you so much." 

Timothée, despite his recovery, is still a bit squeamish with sudden vulnerability, but he can get on with this one. 

"I love you, too." He answers easily, hugging Armie. "It couldn't have gone this well without you. Thank you. For staying. Everything." 

Armie sniffs, and Timothée realizes he's really tearing up. 

"Thank you for letting me in again." Armie responds, his voice breaking. 

Timothée breaks their hug to take Armie's face in his hands. "We made it. We did it together." 

They share a tender moment where they simply put their foreheads against each other, closing their eyes and breathing in. Armie puts a hand around Timothée's neck and pulls him into a kiss, just gentle, light pecks. They open their eyes to smile at each other again,Timothée moving between Armie's legs and snuggling against his chest. 

"Wait, what's this?" Timothée asks, finding the small package hastily wrapped abandoned on the floor. 

When Armie snorts, he should've taken it as a hint. The tapes are carefully peeled off at the top, opening it enough to get a peak. Timothée sees the lace of the fabric just as Armie names the contents of the parcel. 

"It's your lingerie!" 

"Oh my God, Armand!" 

Lyon is infinitely more laid back than Paris. Since Armie is occupied by work for the majority of the two days, Timothée and Astrid strolls around their neighborhood to amuse themselves. Armie texts him throughout the day, even asking to meet during his breaks. They got to meet some of Armie's colleagues during an afternoon break, one of them even recognizing Timothée when he surprised Armie some months ago. Astrid gets a glimpse of what Armie does for a living back in the flat, finding some presentations and sheets of data. It's safe to say that she doesn't seem very inclined to it. 

Timothée always thought that coming together to Paris to settle would be a grand occasion. Instead, it's an ordinary night of exhausting travel; entering a familiar space where they comfortably move and find most of the things they need. Armie still has one thing left to do, so he excuses himself to make a phone call in his office. Astrid complains that she's hungry, so Timothée picks her up and brings her to the kitchen. She sits on the counter, chatting listlessly as he tries to prepare a simple dinner for them. 

Pasta is easy enough, so Timothée gets a pot with water and salted it. He makes a cream truffle mushroom sauce because it's quick and all cooks in one pan. Pauline calls his life skills as permanently-in-a-college-dorm, since he can pretty much survive, but barely. Timothée knows it's another point of improvement, but he'll get there soon. 

Interestingly, Timothée smells Armie through the simmering sauce before Astrid can alert him that the alpha is standing somewhere behind him. There's amazement and shock, but Armie is also over the moon judging by the affection displayed on his face as he approaches them. 

"What?" Timothée asks, twisted on the torso as he drains the pasta on the sink. 

Armie shakes his head, still smiling. He hugs Astrid on the counter, kissing her cheek with a loud smack and making her giggle. 

"Need help?" Armie offers, already rolling his sleeves to his elbows. 

Timothée shrugs. It's practically done anyway, but he gestures towards the cheese to be grated as he mixes the pasta with the sauce. 

Astrid wants to do it, so Armie takes her and carries her over to the stove, letting her grate an outrageous amount. Timothée watches the two as Armie sets her down on the floor, instructing her to bring the napkins to the table while he gets plates and glasses. 

Their dinner gets transferred to a serving plate, which Armie takes from him. Timothée toasts some bread at the very last minute, and Armie takes this opportunity to come up to his side as he waits. 

"Hello," Armie greets him with a kiss on the lips, cut short at first so he can smile down at him. 

Confused, Timothée opens his mouth to ask, but Armie puts their lips together again, this time a lingering kiss. 

"Hi?" Timothée responds tentatively, though he's not complaining at the affection. 

"We're home." Armie says simply, stepping away as Astrid walks between them, wanting to join the little bubble of affection. 

The moment Armie picks up Astrid and holds her between them, Timothée understood. 

Coming home is not grand or eventful. It's quite the opposite. It's finding a secured space filled with those he holds dear. It's nights like this where they make dinner following a long, taxing day. It's Armie and Astrid, staring back at him with all the love they have in their hearts. The two people in his life who literally followed him wherever he went, embraced him for the man that he is, witnessed his growth and loved him more and more each day. 

Timothée finally gets it; why Armie is looking at him with those renewed affection and wonder. He's finally seeing their life through the same lens that Armie has been seeing through all this time. 

"We are." Timothée agrees, stepping forward and hugging them both. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I wrote this, I basically just had some pent up rage that I wanted to expel somehow. It's been an overall tough ride, but I (and I'm sure other people as well) write what I need. At that time, I needed to know that things that got of our hand aren't completely lost, which was the premise that I built this story upon. Now, they've made it, and it's also the same energy that I want to project to myself. It did take them a while, and it was very hard on them considering everything, but a lot of things in our life really boil down on just powering through. And I got that from this fic. Thank you for sticking this one out even if it's exhausting and my grammar goes haywire all throughout! Until the next! 💖


	12. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done. I'm now tying this story with a bow with this brief epilogue. Thank you all so much for putting up with this stressful fic! 💖

"Congratulations!" 

Timothée runs across the clearing to hug his family, Astrid coming in first with a massive bouquet of flowers. Nicole opens her arms to him when he straightens up, crying even harder when Timothée takes his graduation cap off and puts it on her. He stretches his arm to invite Pauline in the hug, which she steps into and wraps them tightly in an embrace. Finally, Timothée turns towards Armie, who's standing a few paces away to let him have his moment. 

"Congratulations," Armie whispers in his ear when Timothée untangle from his family and throws himself in his arms. 

Timothée feels his feet lifted off the ground a little as Armie wraps his hands around his waist. "I did it!" 

"Of course," Armie says with a huff, like it's no-brainer. He sets him down and cradles his face in his hand. "I'm so proud of you." 

Timothée returns his smile, then lets himself be pulled into a kiss. 

So much has happened just in the span of his stay in university. When Timothée enrolled at twenty-six, he had a four year old child waiting for him in the countryside and a business he depended on his mother to run. Armie found him again and stayed with him as he got his life back on track, for better or for worse. 

Since then, he'd gone down the path of healing from his past, and the rest of his life followed. Astrid did proceed with ballet as she wished, though not until a year after she tried it the first time in the summer that they moved to Paris. Their shop had grown and expanded, too. Nicole had employed around four staff to help her, and it's been doing sufficiently well. Before entering his final year in university, Armie had brought him and Astrid over to the States where they met his family and friends, who Astrid easily got along with and thus fostered a bond that obliged them to fly her at least once or twice in a year. The next time they're visiting, Timothée would bring his mother with them so she could spend time with her family in New York. 

They'd decided to mate on their cycle that year, too. It was quite an event; Armie rented a cabin in the middle of nowhere in Switzerland, and they spent two weeks in isolation doing the most scandalous things they could imagine. Timothée would unfailingly blush whenever he remembered even just a moment of their time there. 

His final year in the university tested them as a unit. Timothée had finally experienced just the amount of work that Armie had on his plate; flying him all over the world in a span of two weeks. They had so little time together as Armie would be away more than he's home, and add to that the fact that Timothée was on a hectic term as he wrote his bachelor's thesis. On top of it all, they'd newly mated. It was probably what drove them both nearly crazy. They couldn't find a middle ground for their free time, and they're almost never in the same city, then Astrid had dance along with starting primary school. 

That time, Timothée took it upon himself to bend over backwards to make things work. He arranged his schedule and responsibilities around Armie's free time, flying with Astrid to Lyon or any other European city that he happened to be at even just for a weekend, keeping himself awake until Armie came home at unreasonable hours in the night and took care of him, however he needed. 

The experience served him well. It was a more profound understanding of what Armie had put himself through as opposed to his initial awareness of the gravity of his efforts. 

"Ready to go?" Armie asks, hand cupping his cheek tenderly. 

Timothée looks up to him and nods. 

They go to a fancy restaurant that Pauline suggested, which is made possible by Armie and his insane connections despite only being in France for over two years. Certainly, his money helps, but his influence is still impressive. 

"Is Lyon still happening?" Pauline asks during their meal. 

Armie doesn't even look up from doting on Astrid, keeping her side of the table neat as she takes her food apart. 

"All up to her, I'd say." Timothée replies, watching Armie and Astrid on his right. "Ballet is still on, isn't it?" 

Astrid turns her head at the mention, scowling slightly. "Yes, papa. I don't want to move again!" 

"Really? Is it about Elias?" Armie teases, nudging her gently. 

Their table coos at Astrid, who's flushed deep at the mention of her classmate in school who she's talked about every single day.

"Daddy, I don't have a crush on him. Stop saying that." Astrid complains, scooting her chair away from Armie. 

"But no one said he's your crush, sweetie." Pauline points out, joining in the teasing. 

"Exactly. I thought he's your best friend." Armie deadpans. 

Astrid huffs, irritated, then looks towards Timothée for help. He pulls her towards him, comforting her with a hug, then reaching over to swat Armie who opens his mouth to annoy their daughter again. 

"Stop it," Timothée warns, but they're exchanging mischievous grins. "We're not moving, don't worry." 

"Are you jumping in to work right away?" Nicole asks, diverting the conversation from Astrid, but glances sideways teasingly. 

Astrid huffs, catching her mamie's eyes. Armie dotes on her again to get back on her good side, while Timothée pinches her cheek lightly. 

"I don't know yet. Maybe not?" Timothée announces, biting his lip. 

Surprised, Pauline looks between him and Armie. "Any plans?" 

"I'd love to work, of course, but I feel like I'm going to miss out so much on Astrid." Timothée shifts his gaze to his daughter, brushing her hair with his fingers. 

"You should stay with me papa, it's okay. Daddy is rich." 

Armie, Timothée and Nicole immediately turn their heads to Pauline, who may or may not have snorted the wine up her nose after hearing what Astrid just said. Pauline coughs up and takes a napkin, keeping a hand in the air to indicate that she wants to say something. Their mom smacks her on the thigh for teaching Astrid things like that, but Armie is just laughing along. 

In reality, Timothée and Armie had an extensive discussion about trying for another child. Armie was very, very hesitant, to put it mildly. Timothée had gone to the doctor for checkups which hadn't given him perfect answers, but at least he was cleared to try. That said, Armie was reluctant at best, making sure that Timothée ate according to the diet so he could gain more weight, asking Pauline to bark at him to work out whenever he's available, reminding him to take his supplements throughout the day. It drove Armie up the wall, especially with how often they'd been apart on top of their individual workloads. Timothée, as usual, only got more determined the more resistance he felt. 

As far as he knows, Armie won't be traveling as much for at least two quarters of this year. The original plan is that they'll try _organically,_ because Armie wants to use that stupid term maybe to deter him. They don't take fertility medications, and it's Armie's way of taking a message from the universe, probably. Also, there are complications with a medically-assisted conception. Dr. Arnaud assures them that it's safe, but difficult, because they need to keep that up until it's brought to term. Armie has put his foot down from there. It happens when it does, so they're just off their birth control and living like an Instagram fitness couple. 

However, the universe, for once in his life, is actually on his side. A week ago, Timothée began showing early pregnancy symptoms like morning sickness and absolute disgust for certain smell of food that he's used to, or even liked before. It was tough to hide, but Armie also had been keeping up with different timezones at work so he slept soundly on most days. 

Last night, Timothée took his third pregnancy test, because he wanted to be absolutely certain. That latest one is what he put in a discreet necklace box, tucked neatly in his coat pocket. He looks over at Armie, who's now taking care of the bill as they prepare to leave. 

"Daddy, can we get a cat?" Astrid's eyes follow the stray cat leap from the ground and up to the railing. 

Armie looks at him, waiting for his input. Timothée has a human being coming for Armie, but he doesn't know that yet so he settles to giving a vague shrug. 

"We'll see, baby." Armie answers, taking her hand to keep her close. "What kind of cat, though?" 

Astrid looks up at him, confused. "A gray cat?" 

Armie laughs fondly, bending down to kiss her cheek. "I'm sure we can do something about that." 

"That's right, and what's the reason again?" Pauline points at Astrid, expecting a practiced response. 

"Because daddy is rich." Astrid answers absently, her attention already slipping away from them.

Nicole pinches Pauline on the arm, chiding, but she can't help her own laughter. Armie just brushes it off, never bothered. Timothée mock-glares at his sister, knowing full well it's a joke but also aware of how easily this can get out of hand. 

"Stop putting ideas in my daughter's head." Timothée says warningly, taking Astrid's other hand and blocking half of the way as the three of them walk while latching onto each other. 

"Oh please, my niece is very smart and knows it's a joke. Look, she's not even listening to us." Pauline scoffs at Astrid whose eyes are now fixed on the light over the bridge. 

Timothée scowls at his sister, who's just unapologetically chattering off because she wants to. Nicole has long given up on trying to keep them reined, so she settles on sightseeing as they walk around the neighborhood. 

They stop by at least three shops for random reasons. Astrid somehow fell in love with the fishes on display, which Armie easily talked her out of by reasoning that cats don't like fishes, so she had to make up her mind. The second one had been because of Nicole as they passed by a shop that sells luxury arrangements. They don't get anything except for ideas for their own business. 

The last one was a result of Timothée's stalling. He knows, deep down, that Armie will be ecstatic to know that he's expecting. It's just a lingering tinge around that he can't quite place. Timothée can feel the weight of worry in the air. Sensing it only tips him over a little more, so when he sees a bookstore he pretends to have an urge to get some new volumes. 

"You looking for something?" Armie comes up to his side, his hand automatically finding his waist. 

Timothée jumps in surprise despite his awareness that Armie goes in with him while his family and Astrid roam the street. 

"Is everything alright?" Armie looks at him worriedly. 

"Yeah, just surprised." Timothée smiles and leans against him. "I'm looking to get Astrid something. I don't know why, I just feel like I should." 

Armie nuzzles into his hair, chuckling. He runs his fingers along the spines of the books, trying to help Timothée decide. "Maybe something with dancing princesses in it so she doesn't lose interest in ballet." 

"My, you're right. The school is expensive." Timothée agrees with a huff, and they laugh together at the thought. 

The store clerk keeps an eye on them behind the counter, and since Timothée hardly knows what he's in there for, he flags her down to ask for her help. She takes them to the children's aisle and recommends a good selection. She also speaks English effortlessly, so Armie is included in the conversation. 

Timothée doesn't know at which point he realizes it, but they're already paying for a boxed set of a graphic novel when he stares at Armie to confirm his hunch. The worry that he sensed in the air wasn't his alone. Armie shares the same feeling, but Timothée hasn't got the faintest idea as to why. 

A mating bond entails an open connection like this. Ever since they've done it, Timothée and Armie had found themselves endlessly astonished with how deep it goes. Now that he can pinpoint it, Timothée's mind takes him to an overdrive, wondering exactly what it is in the back of Armie's head that has him ultimately worried. 

"Ready to go?" Armie offers his arm, and Timothée shakes off his thoughts and takes it. 

When they're by the door, Timothée pulls Armie by the lapel of his coat for a kiss. Pauline mocks them with a coo, and Timothée flips her off without looking. When he opens his eyes, Astrid is looking at him curiously. Armie guffaws while Timothée and Nicole rush to explain that it's a bad sign language and Astrid should never use it because it's rude. 

Once the realization settles, Timothée balks more and more from telling Armie about his result. Of course, he would, but maybe now isn't the time. He wants to see how the rest of the night would play out. If the weight in the air dissipates by the morning, then he could do it by then. Armie is rarely this bothered by anything, so Timothée assumes it to be pretty big. Maybe another work thing that will take him to another trip across Europe, or some other problem back in the States. Timothée knows he can only wait it out now. 

Watching his mother and sister dote on Astrid occupies Timothée as he walks arm in arm with Armie. They're chatting animatedly in French, something about the houseplants that they're growing in the loft. It's one of Armie's interests as well, and he has a nice, mini-garden out on the balcony that they work on regularly. 

Belatedly, Timothée realizes that they're not down the path back to the loft. Instead, they're walking towards an urban green patch away from the busy district. He's familiar with this spot since they liked stopping by here during strolls. 

"Where are we heading to?" Timothée stops on his tracks, holding Armie back. 

They're already in the middle of the garden, and Astrid has bolted up to statues lining the stone pathway in the middle followed by Nicole and Pauline. 

Armie shrugs, acting casual. Timothée releases his grip on his arm and stands in front of him. 

"Need a leeway?" Timothée tries to examine Armie's face, which results in his nervousness spiking through the bond. "Is something wrong?" 

"No, no," Armie takes deep breaths as he assures Timothée with a kiss on his forehead, though the gesture seems to be more for the alpha's sake than his. "Sorry, was I making you worry?" 

"Well, honestly I didn't notice until a while back in the bookstore." It's definitely puzzling now, since Armie doesn't feel like he's worried because he's in trouble. He's just nervous. "Do you have something to say?" 

Armie glances over to Astrid and his family who are entertaining themselves at a comfortable distance. "Yes," he replies as he looks back to Timothée. "I'm just - sorry, one second, I don't know why I'm this nervous." 

It's slowly occurring to Timothée that Armie is going to pull something equally as important as his own intended announcement. It could really be anything, one of which he speculates to be a new house away from the central district so they can raise Astrid in a more homey environment. Maybe Armie plans on giving him something, a little more help with the business. Likely an additional expansion, if that's the case. 

"I'm listening," Timothée responds encouragingly, threading their fingers together. 

It's obviously an offhanded gesture when Armie brushes his thumb over Timothée's knuckles, but it speaks volumes that his heartbeat stutters then plummets dangerously. 

"You know, in the years that we've been together, I still feel like I haven't told you enough of just-" Armie gets choked up and blows out a shaky breath, then offers a sheepish smile to Timothée before picking his speech back up. "It's just, my _God,_ I'm obsessed with you, and you _know_ this." 

Timothée can't help but let out his laugh, stroking Armie's cheek fondly. "Yeah, you sort of really love me." 

Armie joins him in laughter, though his sounds a lot more driven by nerves. "Damn, that obvious, huh?" He leans on Timothée's palm, sighing. "I don't think I've ever talked to you about the first few times I saw you." 

"No, not really. Sore topic," Timothée answers easily. This time, they can brush it off with a chuckle. 

"I'll tell you now. The scent-bond isn't the start for me. I saw you before your blockers failed, and it terrified me, because I suddenly can't grasp my own emotions. I didn't know what the hell was going on, and then we bonded." Armie shakes his head at the memory. "I couldn't stay away, and I didn't want to. But I'd been so gone in on you that I took any option available for me." 

This time, Armie doesn't apologize. Timothée doesn't need him to, and he's glad that they're over that. He smiles at him, prompting him to go on with a smile. 

"I've loved you even then, but I made it hard for us because I didn't follow my guts even when I knew there's nothing for me to go back to in my marriage." Armie smiles ruefully at the memory. "I didn't trust the feeling because I knew how detached you were from me, which I don't blame you for. Between the two of us, you're the one who had control of the situation and I'm thankful for that."

"I've hurt us both." Timothée reminds him gently. "It was the only way for me to survive our arrangement." 

"I know." Armie replies. "And we've come so far from there, but I want you to know that I've been sure of you eight years ago just as I am with you now." 

Everything clicks at that point. Timothée feels his blood freeze over before it flares hot across his body. 

"I can't thank you enough, and I'm so fucking lucky to have you as my mate. You give me purpose, a vision, a meaning, but most importantly you're my home. Knowing you has saved me and remade me, and everyday I strive to be what you deserve." Armie takes a deep breath, moving his other hand to reach into his pocket.

Timothée can feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears as he moves his own hand inside his coat, pulling out his own little box at the same time that Armie presents him with the velvet case of an engagement ring. 

They look at each other, Armie shocked by the unexpected gift while Timothée is holding back a fit of giggles. 

"I, too, have something for you tonight." Timothée tells him as he watches Armie attempt to work out the scenario. 

"What's in the box?" Armie mumbles, staring at the sleek, rectangular box then back at him. 

Timothée shrugs, enjoying himself. "At the count of three?" 

"A what-" 

"Three-" 

Panicking, Armie shifts on his feet and fumbles with his velvet box. "Oh my God, you're also _nuts,_ I should've included that-" 

Timothée ignores him. "Two, one-" 

"Will you marry me?" Armie comes through, despite getting thrown off spectacularly. 

Instead of answering, Timothée takes the lid off of his own box for Armie to see the test showing positive. There's a momentary lag where Armie just gawks blankly, then his excitement bursts through the air that he pulls Timothée in a hug, lifting him off the ground and breaking down in a hysterical fit. 

"Oh my God, are you serious? When? Let me see - fuck, it _is_ positive." Armie has gone through at least four bouts of emotions before it settles into a pacified hysteria as he holds the stick in his other hand. 

"Yes, it is. Any plans?" Timothée milks the moment and waits until Armie's astounded eyes find his, then he glances to the velvet box, still unopened and forgotten. 

Armie shakes his head, clipping the stick with his pinky as he opens the case to take out a two-tone rose gold band with a brushed matte accent. "I'm gonna put a ring on it." 

"Please do," Timothée offers his hand smugly, which Armie kisses first before he slips the in his finger. 

"Aren't you just full of surprises." Armie breathes out happily, pressing their foreheads together. 

Timothée pecks on his lips cheekily, then bites his bottom lip. "Is that a problem?" 

"Goodness, no. I fucking love you to bits." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm being optimistic, but I think I might manage two one-shots and another multichapter before my term starts again. See you when I see you 🥰


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